Stigz
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Posts: 150
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Post by Stigz on Nov 24, 2019 0:48:17 GMT
Alright! So we've finally made a full rotation of all the characters (new and old) in the story, yay! So with that in mind, we return back to Germun: the brother of Raymun Redbeard. The last time we saw him, he and Eira Eld had arrived at Clan Greymyst to gain followers for Raymun's cause. They spoke with Vormyr Greymyst, who claimed their conflict with Wacka the Walrus was more pressing to the Greymyst's than the rumoured Ice River clan army. Vormyr then suggested he would honour an alliance if he were allowed to sleep with Germun's woman, and the vote was decided to allow Vormyr this. This part takes place the next day, where the Greymyst forces are marching for Wacka's village.
Germun
The next day was warmer than the last few weeks, albeit a place in Germun’s heart was reserved for coldness. Coldness towards Eira. Coldness towards Vorymyr. Coldness towards Raymun. If that fucker isn’t dead I swear to the gods I will kill him myself, Germun vowed bitterly, glaring at the chieftain who rode ahead of the Greymyst army. Vormyr had said only a night, but whatever he had done with her that night, he had convinced Eira that this proposition was more permanent than they had initially thought. She stood beside him in his sled, and Germun dreaded it.
Walking with his army, Germun was surrounded by complete strangers. The Frozen Shore Men were hard folk, surviving purely from what they could hunt, as no greenery grew on the great plains of ice that stretched for miles along the shore. Women were clan in seal skins and fox pelts lined with clam and oyster shells for armament, while men wore heavy snow bear cloaks and snow fox pelts. Their weaponry was either scavenged or crafted, and Germun noted few iron or steel amongst the Greymyst forces. Many were armed with clubs or sharpened bones, some even carried nets as shields.
They were headed for Wacka the Walrus’ village, which couldn’t be too far now. Germun trudged through the heavy snow with bitter eyes, something which apparently attracted attention. A woman approached him from the left, a spearwife from the looks of her. She was clad in boiled leather which had been dyed red, and she wore pauldrons and cestuses forged from iron. Slung over her back was a round shield and harpoon, while an iron sword dangled behind her waist.
“You walk poor for a man who calls himself a prince,” she mocked with a playful tone, to which Germun flicked her a scowl. “I’m no prince. It’s my brother who holds the titles,” Germun muttered in his defence, and the girl raised an eyebrow. “So what are you then?” she queried, to which he sighed with a shrug. “A fool,” he muttered as he glared ahead to Vormyr’s sledge. The woman glared with him.
“My brother is a cunt, but he’s also a man of his word. The Greymyst’s will back your king,” she stated, making Germun look at her with scrutinising eyes. She was beautiful, in a wild kind of way, not so dissimilar to Eira in some regards, but far less refined. Her black hair was straighter than Eira’s curly hair, and was shaved to the parting line on one side; and she certainly did share the icy blue eyes that Vormyr had.
“What do you want?” Germun muttered with a bitter tone, and the girl furrowed her eyebrows. “You don’t recognise me?” she asked, her voice sounding almost disappointing. “Why would I? I’ve never had any ambition to visit this frozen shithole,” Germun grumbled, to which the girl laughed coldly.
“We didn’t meet here,” she stated plainly, and Germun raised his eyebrow. “Ten years ago you found a little girl stranded in the Haunted Forest. She had been tortured and raped by the Ice River clans, held as their hostage for months before she managed to escape into the woods. She was lost and disorientated, but you found her and cared for her until she was ready to return home. I am that girl, Germun. I’m Neyla Greymyst,” she claimed, and Germun’s eyes suddenly widened with recognition.
“You’ve grown,” Germun stated to the obvious, to which the girl smiled. “Well ten years will do that,” she remarked, and the two engaged in a light chuckle. The girl Germun had rescued would have only been ten years old at the time, that would make Neyla twenty now. “I’m lost for words. I’m glad you survived, I admit I had my doubts,” Germun confessed, and Neyla gave him a small smile.
“I wouldn’t have if it weren’t for you. I owe you my life,” she stated, but Germun shook his head modestly. “You owe me nothing,” he assured her, but Neyla seemed less than convinced. “Germun, we’ve heard the rumours, but even if they’re true I will make my brother fight. He knows what Fleshbearer did to me, and if he won’t avenge Raymun Redbeard, he will certainly avenge me,” she swore, to which Germun nodded. “Thank you,” Germun mumbled with appreciation, but she only frowned.
“Don’t thank me yet. We still have to deal with Wacka, and gods know we would stand a better chance against the Ice River clans with his clan at our side,” she stated, and Germun sighed. “Vormyr took my woman for this alliance, what will this Wacka want? My cock?” Germun muttered with a defeatist tone, but Neyla shook her head. “Wacka is a simple man, his priorities are simple: fight, fuck and keep his people alive. He and Vormyr may have their differences, but I’m sure that a prince can work around that,” Neyla suggested, to which Germun rolled his eyes.
With that, Neyla walked off to join another group of clansmen, and once again Germun was left alone to his thoughts. He tried his best to flush his emotions out of mind and focus on the task at hand; experience commonly found that unless it was women, tasks weren’t so easy to keep Germun’s attention. He did managed to move his thoughts to Raymun, however. What has he gotten himself into? Germun thought with concern as he pushed on. All his life, Germun had been a troublemaker which Raymun had constantly had to rescue. Now the roles were reversed, and Germun wasn’t sure how the hell he could live up to such a demand. Raymun’s a king now, there’s a lot of people who love him, and there’s a lot of people who hate him too. Germun shook his head. I have to remain focused, he thought as he focused his eye on the village ahead. A confrontation was coming.
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By the time Germun had made it to Vormyr and Eira, they were face-to-face with the head of another army. In front of Wacka’s village stood a little under five hundred men, headed by a robust beast of a man that Germun assumed was Wacka the Walrus. Vormyr’s forces were around that number as well, which would make a combined army of close to a thousand if they successfully gained the Walrus’ men. However, Germun felt this encounter was less than favourable for those odds. Germun turned his attention to Vormyr, who was surrounded by his apparent war council, which included Eira as well.
Germun approached them with heavy feet, quickly gaining their attention. Eira’s eyes beamed with delight as she noticed him, separating from the pack to embrace him, but Germun could barely hold her after what had transpired. She noticed, but their duty kept her silent. “What’s going on here?” Germun asked with a badgered tone, and Eira joined his side to introduce those around him. “My sweet, these are Vormyr’s closest advisors. You already know Walf the Horned, but this is Fullerton: a man from the Ice Rivers himself,” she announced, and Germun eyed the man cautiously. He was unnaturally skinny, even evident under all his furs, and was a gaunt and ugly looking creature with the looks of a ferret.
“My love for them is likely akin to your own, however,” Fullerton stated with a confident tone, and Germun eyed him carefully. This man spoke well with his words, and Germun could tell that was his sharpest weapon. It was Eira’s too, and Germun had seen how much she loved to use it. “It turns out that Wacka’s village was built on a frozen-over bay. Vormyr is threatening to collapse it if he refuses to cooperate,” Eira stated with a tone that was not so on board with this plan. Germun sighed as he shook his head.
“What’s your problem with Wacka?” Germun asked bluntly, and the Greymyst chief raised an eyebrow. “Wacka is a cunt,” Vormyr stated plainly, as if that were his only defence. So are you, Germun wanted to say, but he clamped his tongue as he chose his words carefully. “Nothing else?” Germun asked, and Vormyr stood down from his sledge with a smirk. “You don’t know us, bright head, you don’t understand our quarrels. Wacka manipulated our clan for decades when my weak father was in charge, he wasn’t too happy when I started disobeying his commands after I took my father’s seat,” Vormyr grunted, to which Eira sighed.
“So what if we make a compromise? We need Wacka’s men if we’re to stand a chance against Fleshbearer,” Eira claimed, and Fullerton nodded. “If the Ice River clans are united, it won’t bode well for the Frozen Shores,” he stated in an almost prophetic manner, making Vormyr clench his fists with frustration. “There will be no negotiations. Wacka is a vile fuck who lives for nothing more than to humiliate others. You want his men? Convince him to fight me one on one, I’ll have them by sundown. Otherwise I’m going to sink these cunts into the frozen abyss,” Vormyr declared, making Eira frown. She turned to Germun with heavy eyes.
“Will you come with me?” she asked, making Germun sigh. Do I have much of a choice? He thought bitterly, but nodded all the same. “I’ll be coming too,” Fullerton announced, gaining the eyes of both Eira and Germun. “Someone has to ensure that Chief Vormyr’s will is honoured,” he stated with a wispy voice, to which Germun rolled his eyes. “Come on then,” he muttered, and the three crossed the empty land between the two armies.
They were met by sharpened whalebone spears as they arrived, and a hunchback standing beside the Walrus spoke up. “Who are you?” he croaked with a frog’s voice. Germun cleared his throat, looking to his company. “My name is Germun, brother to King Raymun Redbeard, and these two are Eira Eld and Fullerton,” Germun introduced, to which the hunchback only eyed them with caution. “What do you want?” he asked curiously, but the Walrus shook his head as he placed a large hand on his servants shoulder.
“Don’t indulge them, Packa. We told the last fools you sent that we have no interest in serving a dead king,” he uttered, making Germun and Eira exchanged confused glances, “You stand in front of Wacka the Walrus with an army to threaten me, why shouldn’t I cut out your throats and destroy the Greymyst’s now,” Wacka grumbled with an impatient tone, to which Germun expressed a small smile. “Because we’re the only thing preventing you and all your people from sinking to the bottom of this lake,” Germun stated plainly, and the man raised an eyebrow as he clutched his large ironwood club.
“He doesn’t have the balls,” Wacka grunted as he tightly grasped his club, to which Fullerton spoke up with his annoying whiny voice. “Whether he does or not, this ends in one of two ways. You die or you don’t,” Fullerton stated simply, and Wacka eyed the boy down with an intimidating glance. “It doesn’t have to be this way,” Eira suggested, now gaining the chieftain’s attention. “It is in our best interests to put aside our differences if we are to survive. The Ice River clans are coming, and if we do not unite, they will fuck us all,” Eira stated, making Wacka grin.
“We are men of the sea, girl. The Ice River clans would discover an empty village by the time they brought their sorry arses here, and the Greymyst’s would be fucked. Sounds good to me,” Wacka announced, followed by a booming laughter that evoked a similar reaction from his men. Germun shook his head. “So that’s it, huh? The infamous Wacka the Walrus I’ve heard so much about is just a craven that creeps back to the sea when danger approaches?” Germun taunted, and even Eira glanced at him with concern. Wacka was fuming.
“Shut your fucking mouth, boy,” the chieftain warned, but Germun was known for nothing else than his abusive tongue. “Am I wrong? My brother claimed the Frozen Shores were full of warriors, and yet I’ve seen nothing but cowards since I’ve been here,” Germun chastised, and the enraged Wacka pushed past his men despite Packa’s attempts to calm him. He grabbed Germun and threw him to the ground, letting out a boisterous roar. Germun shook his head to Eira as he noticed her reaching for her spear.
“Is that the best you can do, Walrus?” Germun smirked, and the beast stomped towards him with fire in his eyes. He grabbed Germun by the collar, lifting him up slightly before pommelling him back into the ice with his fist. Germun had suffered a few beatings before, but nothing quite as harsh as what he received now. Blood streamed out his nose and pooled in his mouth. Once again, he persevered and arose. “Come on, you fucking coward,” Germun mumbled, staggering as he tried to keep his balance.
“I’ll fucking kill you,” the chieftain shouted, and Germun flashed him a bloody grin. Energy surged through him, and as Wacka threw a heavy punch in his direction, Germun quickly dodged his throw and jabbed him in the ribs with a quick hit. It wasn’t very effective, but it caught the chieftain off guard. “You little fucking shit,” Wacka grouched as he threw himself at Germun again. This time Germun caught his punch in the side, but also left him with an opening to Wacka’s head. He threw a hard punch, the hardest he could muster, and as it landed it left the Walrus dazed.
The two collapsed to the ground with disarray, and as Germun pulled himself up, Wacka had already grabbed his club. He smacked it down towards Germun’s feet, something that Germun merely managed to avoid, and watched as the great lump of wood left its mark in the ice. Germun grinned as he danced to Wacka’s right, unsheathing his sword and dodging the next thunderous strike, once again cracking the ice a little more. Three more came before the ice was creaking to the pressure, and Wacka let out a thunderous roar.
“FIGHT ME!” he shouted with frustration, to which Germun chuckled. “Fight the cold,” he insisted, and miraculously on cue, the ice collapsed beneath Wacka’s feet, plunging him into the ice cold waters. This threw him into complete disarray, and his men quickly shuffled forward to his aid, but the flash of Germun’s blade made them desist as he pointed it towards the struggling chieftain.
“You and the Greymyst’s have some unsettled history which I believe needs to be resolved. Now we can either go into your hall to discuss this, or I can put my sword through your skull and let you sink to the bottom of the bay. Which will it be?” Germun asked with a cold tone, and the shivering chieftain glared at him before giving him a weak nod. Germun lifted his blade and allowed his men to heave him out. Eira and Fullerton quickly came to his aid, the former tending to his wounds.
“That was foolish,” she muttered to him, but Germun only shrugged his shoulders. “It worked,” he suggested, but Fullerton seemed less certain. “You denied Vormyr his fight,” Fullerton stated with angst, and Germun glared at the ferret coldly. “Vormyr will have to learn then that I’m not his pawn. Go fetch him, we settle this now,” Germun declared, and Fullerton eyed him warningly before doing so. Germun turned his gaze back to the chieftain, who was shivering as his men stripped him of his pelts and dressed him in a dry cloak of fur. Wacka turned his eyes to Germun, and to his surprise, flashed him a grin. Germun smirked back, and then the pain of his wounds caught up with him.
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“Why should we be fretting over some fucking army that may not even exist?” Packa queried with a critical tone, while Wacka sat quietly in his chair. “Easy thing to say, hunchback, when you will be cowering with the crones and babes,” Walf the Horned grunted, which erupted laughter from the Greymyst men present in the hall. Vormyr sighed, crossing his arms. “For hundreds of years, the Men of the Frozen Shore have warred with clans of the Ice Rivers, but never once have we seen all of those clans united. If that is true, then we need to be ready for them, whether they’re coming our way or not,” Vormyr stated, and Wacka nodded.
“Aye, I’ve fought in my fair share of skirmishes, but those against the cannibal fuckers have been the worst. I’ve seen what they could do,” Wacka muttered in agreeance, but Packa was less than convinced. “You said it yourself, brother, we are folk of the sea. Let us take our ships and wait out the storm,” the hunchback suggested, and Wacka looked firmly at Germun before shaking his head. “If weak Greymyst cunts are fighting against Fleshbearer, then I’m fighting too,” Wacka announced, and he and Vormyr locked eyes before finding some sort of mutual understanding.
“Then it’s settled, Clan Greymyst will return to their village to prepare for war, and so shall we,” Packa grumbled reluctantly, and Vormyr nodded. “We have travelled far to make this happen, Wacka. We will rest and leave tomorrow,” Vormyr declared, but Wacka firmly shook his head. “We may be allies now, Greymyst, but you won’t sleep under my roof. We don’t have the provisions to feed two armies,” Wacka stated, making Vormyr smirk. “We’re one army now, Wacka,” Vormyr reminded him, making Wacka snarl. “My answer is still no,” he grumbled, leaning forward in his chair. Germun let out a sigh. It was all going so well.
“Do you know what I suffered?” a voice suddenly spoke up, and Neyla revealed herself to the meeting. “Do you remember, brother?” Neyla asked, and Vormyr frowned as he lowered his eyes. “For months I was kept as Fleshbearer’s prisoner, and I’ve seen what he is capable of. If he’s leading this army, then we don’t have time to fuck around. We leave tonight,” Neyla announced, making Vormyr glare at her in silence; she glared back just as hard. “So be it,” he muttered, and exited the hall with Walf and Fullerton. Shortly after his forces followed, and Neyla exchanged glances with Germun before following after them. Germun and Eira also stood up to leave, but Wacka raised his hand to halt them.
“Red hair,” he grumbled, standing from his seat and approaching him. “You punch weak,” he mocked, and Germun smirked at him before the chieftain chuckled. “It takes strength to take a beating, and I beat you hard, yet you still won,” Wacka stated, to which Germun nodded. “An hour ago I was going to kill you, and now I’m going to march to war with you. I admire your resilience, but we are only a thousand men combined, and I’m willing to bet that Fleshbearer will have double that,” Wacka stated, to which Eira nodded.
“We’ve been trying to rally folk from the fishing villages, but none have been very compliant,” she stated, to which Wacka nodded. “Take Packa with you, he speaks for me, and he’s a persuasive bastard,” Wacka claimed, to which Eira nodded appreciatively. Germun furrowed his eyebrows. “You mentioned earlier that there were others before us that spoke of Raymun, did they say who they were?” Germun queried, and Wacka raised an eyebrow.
“Said they were Ironborn, sent by their king to help Raymun Redbeard. They left here a few days ago to keep searching for him,” Wacka stated, to which Germun sighed, he was confused. Why would the Ironborn of all people want to help Raymun? Germun wondered curiously, but either way it was of no consequence. They weren’t here now. “I hope they find him,” Germun mumbled, but he was beginning to grow doubtful of that happening. What if he truly is dead? Will they expect me to become king? These thoughts had troubled him over this last day. He had committed to rallying men and women to Raymun’s cause, but what if there was no more Raymun? This was never Germun’s dream, but it was larger than all of them now.
Wacka took his leave, and Germun turned his attention to Eira. “This day turned out well,” Germun stated optimistically, and Eira nodded. “There’s still much to do, I’d best get going,” Eira claimed, and Germun furrowed his eyebrows. “What about me? We do this together,” Germun stated, and Eira sighed. “Germun, you’re Raymun’s brother. There’s a reason you’re here, and we have the two most powerful clans ready to fight for Raymun. You need to show them that you’re worth following into battle, and while Wacka’s in, I think the Greymyst’s could do with some more convincing,” Eira stated, but Germun wasn’t sold with this idea.
“I’m not a chieftain, Eira. I’m not even a warrior, this fight is not something I’m meant to be the head of. Raymun wanted me to get him men, that’s what I’m here to do,” Germun reminded her, and Eira sighed. “I’ll be happy to have you with me if you choose to come, Germun, but just think on it. Things are much different now than what Raymun had anticipated,” Eira claimed, and Germun knew she was right. She was always right, in one way or another, whether he liked it or not. Still, he didn’t want to leave her again.
[Go with Eira] [Stay with the Greymyst’s]
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Post by WildlingKing on Nov 25, 2019 21:03:11 GMT
[Stay with the Greymyst’s] I'm conflicted, because developing the relationship between Germun and Eira could be interesting. However, I trust there will be a chance for that later, and have Germun stay with the Greymysts because it's quite entertaining to see him out of his element and having to make do with his wits
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Stigz
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Posts: 150
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Post by Stigz on Nov 29, 2019 10:13:44 GMT
Alright, I took a little while to get this part finished and it's really not much now that I look at it, but it'll do for now. Firstly, let me close his last vote. Rambton will go with Harmilla. We'll see where that choice leads now
Rambton She has a fine arse, I bet, Rambton thought lustfully as he stared at Harmilla Tusk’s hind. The sun was at its highest in the sky, and yet still it was colder than Rambton had ever felt. Part of him regretted his decision in not leaving this place sooner. What was I thinking? The same thoughts were likely going through Jay Snow’s mind as he followed walked beside him. Neither of them wanted to be here, and yet here they were; Rambton hoping for a fine fuck before his death, and god knows what was going on in Jay’s excuse for a mind. Harmilla had succeeded in persuading Nerminy and Elliot to accompany them, leaving only her husband, Ox, and Ha’akh back at the village. Nerminy and Elliot walked with Harmilla ahead of the group, while Daritus, Varik and Nikita brought up the rear. This sandwiched Rambton with Paxtan and Jay; the three deserters. It was almost poetic. “Can’t believe you fucking did me like that, Rambton. There’s plenty of moist cunts south of the Wall you know?” Jay muttered with an irritable tone, and Rambton rolled his eye. “I don’t get why you’re being such a fucking sore arse about it? You said yourself you’d rather stay in the Haunted Forest than go south,” Rambton reminded him, and Jay nodded enthusiastically with a sarcastic eye. “Aye, and that’s where I’d fucking be now if it were able to make up your fucking mind,” Jay grunted, bringing a smile to Rambton’s lips. Paxtan let out a heavy sigh as he rubbed his eyes. “You see what I have to put up with?” he mocked with a yawn, making Rambton grin. “Aye, what a fucking sook,” Rambton stated in agreeance, lifting Jay’s aggressive gaze. “Watch yourself, bastard,” Jay warned, instantly triggering Rambton. “Who the fuck are you calling bastard, Jay Snow?” Rambton barked, gathering the eyes of the rest of the group. Paxtan rolled his eyes as he placed a hand on Jay’s shoulder. “Quit moaning like a bitch and walk, you bastards,” Paxtan grunted, and as if the tension of the situation was about to burst, Jay surprisingly burst into laughter, shaking his head manically. “This is why I fucking love you, Rambton. You’re so tightly wound, I just want to make you snap!” Jay quipped with a beaming grin, and Rambton flashed him a smirk. “You’re a fucking lunatic,” Rambton japed, and the crazed bastard gave him a big nod. “I’m as free as can be, you ought to try loosening up if you’re going to be one of us,” Jay suggested as he slapped Rambton on the shoulder and started to walk with Paxtan. Rambton shook his head with a heavy sigh as he watched them storm on. This is the life I want? He thought to himself with doubt, but there was something alluring to the wildness of it. He was free to do whatever the fuck he wanted, and no lord or whore could moan about it without the risk of Rambton freely taking their head. Perhaps Jay is right, Rambton thought with a cold smirk. “What was all that about?” Daritus asked with a curious tone as his small group caught up with Rambton. “You know how Jay is,” Rambton stated plainly, making Da’ roll his eyes in acknowledgement. “I’ve known him for nearly two years now, and he hasn’t changed a single bit,” Daritus muttered with a chuckle, to which Rambton smirked. “How far are we?” Varik piped up with a tired voice; the boy looked like the living dead with the way he walked. Daritus sighed as he stared to the head of the group. “Not long now, a few more hours at best,” Da’ wagered, making Rambton raise an eyebrow. “How do you know this terrain so well?” Rambton asked him with curiosity, making Da’ shrug. “I hunted with a man who lived here. He was a crazy fucker, not like Jay, but a well enough sort once you got to know him,” Daritus explained, peaking the interest of Nikita: the Nightrunner. “What game is hunted out here?” she asked with interest, to which Da’ frowned. “Nothing prestigious, mostly seals and albatross, whatever you can get your hands on really,” Daritus answered plainly, to which the girl shrugged. Rambton turned his gaze on her. “You don’t seem like you’re from around here,” he claimed, and she nodded in agreeance. “I was found by the Nightrunners a few months ago,” she stated, and Varik looked at her with tired eyes. “Where were you before then?” he asked with boredom, and the girl lowered her gaze. “I was a slave, purchased from New Ghis, a city in Essos that was once my home. The slave ship was eaten by the storm, and those of us who survived washed ashore where we were found and sheltered by the Nightrunners. I’ve been with them ever since, free,” she stated, and Rambton nodded. “I may not have been a slave, but I lost my freedom at the Wall. I know what it’s like,” he claimed, and Nikita flashed him a doubtful gaze but nodded regardless. “Let’s press on, I want to get indoors as soon as possible,” Varik muttered, and the group agreed in silence as they lowered their heads and bashed on. - “Then when will he return, Domund?” Harmilla asked with an impatient tone, and the man standing by the Greymyst chieftain’s empty chair crossed his arms. “Vormyr only left a day ago with most of our fighting force, I don’t expect he will return until he has Wacka’s head on a spike,” the man stated, making Rambton sigh. “However, as his brother I can speak on his behalf. What is it you want?” the man asked, and Harmilla hissed. “To speak to your brother,” she muttered under her breath with an inaudible tone. “We heard that Raymun Redbeard was rallying the Free Folk to his cause here, is it true?” Varik asked with a hopeful voice, and Domund smirked. “It is true that a man came here to convince us to join Raymun, but that man was not Raymun himself, but his brother: Germun,” Domund elaborated, evoking murmurs amongst their group. “And what is this ‘Germun’s’ intentions?” Harmilla asked, to which Domund shrugged. “He came to rally the Frozen Shore Men to war, I assume he’ll use us to take his vengeance on his brother’s death,” Domund muttered, causing Varik to shake his head immediately. “Raymun Redbeard is not dead, he’s unkillable!” the boy claimed, making Rambton roll his eye. Anyone is killable, he thought, but he was beginning to think this plan was ill-founded. A single glance in Jay Snow’s direction reinforced that idea. “You’re welcome to stay in my hall until Vormyr arrives. If you wish to join them for war, I’m sure Germun will be pleased,” Domund stated with a mocking tone, and without another word he descended from his podium and exited with his men. Harmilla let out a groan and turned her gaze to the group, which formed a tight huddle. “I knew this was a fucking waste of time,” Jay Snow claimed, and Elliot crossed his arms and nodded. “We wouldn’t have come all this way if we’d known this, Harmilla,” he stated, but Harmilla shook her head. “Whether Raymun is dead or not, it doesn’t matter. This army that destroyed him is coming for us, and there’ll be a fight whether we choose a side or not. I’m not returning to my coward of a husband to wait around and die,” she stated firmly, which put Elliot and Nerminy in silence, but Jay shook his head. “Fleshbearer and his army are doomed to fall, I don’t give a fuck how and frankly I don’t care to see it. I say we fuck off out of here,” Jay suggested, making Varik clench his fists with anger. “You’re a fucking coward, Jay. If Raymun truly is dead, then we owe it to Germun to help avenge him,” the naive boy stated, and Jay grasped the hilts of his blades before Paxtan and Daritus stood in to intervene. Nikita held a firm glare to the floor. “I will not be a slave again,” she muttered, making Jay roll his eyes as he freed himself from Da’ and Paxtan’s grip. “You cunts can stay here to die if you want, but I already risked my life once for Raymun, I’m not doing it again,” Jay muttered, nudging Paxtan. “You’re with me, aren’t you, Codd?” Jay grunted, to which Paxtan shrugged. “Daritus? Rambton?” Jay grumbled with desperation for some common sense, to which Da’ only looked in Rambton’s direction, making him realise this was suddenly his short straw to draw. Oh for fuck sake, Rambton thought bitterly as if he had to make all the decisions here. I fought for Raymun once, should I really fight for his brother?[Fight for Germun] [Leave the war behind]
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Post by WildlingKing on Nov 30, 2019 19:11:51 GMT
[Fight for Germun] The other option kinda feels more in-character for Rambton, but it'd also make him a bit too wishy washy given the last choice So yeah, let's stick with Harmilla for now.
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Stigz
Full Member
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Posts: 150
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Post by Stigz on Dec 3, 2019 1:40:12 GMT
Alrighty, I have the next part ready! As per usual, I shall leave the votes open until I need to close them This part goes to Phoenix, a man we have seen only briefly in this story (my last part being only his second entrance in the story!). The last time we saw Phoenix he met with Chieftain Wacka to try and find Raymun Redbeard, but Wacka made it clear he had no intentions of helping them, claiming he had other pressing issues with the Greymyst's and Fleshbearer. You chose to stick with Asshkaan in finding Raymun. This part takes place a few days later.
Phoenix It had been days since their last encounter with civilisation, the village belonging to Chieftain Wacka had been their only hospitable endeavour thus far. Hence it was a relief to Phoenix’s eyes when he spotted a small fishing village along the coast. It didn’t appear to be much, consisting of three huts and a small storehouse, and seemingly abandoned from what they could see from the ship. “And you think Raymun would be here?” Phoenix thought aloud with doubt, while the tired eyes of the red priest glared long and hard at the village. “No,” he muttered admittedly, somewhat surprising Phoenix for a response, “but we’re low on provisions, and a barrel of salted meat won’t feed sixty men for more than a couple of days,” he reconciled, and Phoenix nodded in agreeance. It was the first rational sentence that had come out of the deluded priest’s mouth. When they arrived to the island, Phoenix was quick to jump ship with ten other Ironborn, and Asshkaan by his side; the icy waters of the far North flooding their boots. They trudged their way up to the village with alert eyes, yet as Phoenix had thought, the place was abandoned. Phoenix rubbed his temples irritably as he glanced at the red priest. “I told you we should have stayed with Wacka,” Phoenix muttered, but he knew he was as much to blame for being in this mess as Asshkaan was. I chose to keep looking for the wildling king too. Asshkaan lifted his finger to silence him, his feet creeping towards one of the small huts. He twisted the nob, but to no avail did the door move. Phoenix turned his gaze to the men at his side. “Open it,” he ordered, to which the Ironborn coldly past him, pushing the priest aside. It took three men to push the door through, and once they found the table that had been barring it they understood why. “Someone was trying to keep us out,” Asshkaan stated with a hinting voice, to which Phoenix only rolled his eyes. “You don’t know that,” he muttered in return, but the red priest wasn’t finished, as he pointed his finger to the fireplace. The fire there had recently been extinguished, perhaps in the last hour, with smoke still rising from the few embers in the charred wood. “Hwarden!” one of the Ironborn called, and Phoenix looked to meet the eyes of one of his men: Tanner. The man was Ironborn to the core, but his life offering to the Drowned God and left him unconscious too long, and it had driven him made when he was brought back. “What is it, Tanner?” Phoenix muttered tiredly, to which the man grinned. “Goodbrother and Quarter-Iron found something, or someone,” he hinted as he flashed his yellow teeth. Phoenix and Asshkaan exchanged glances before following after Tanner, who led them into the small storehouse. They looked at a hole in the floor, where Andiron Quarter-Iron and Kober Goodbrother had ripped up the planks to reveal to men. One of them was a great giant of a man, he would have been eight feet standing at least, and he wore a great grey beard. His pale blue eyes glared at Phoenix with ire. The man beside him was seemingly the first man’s opposite. While the giant was greyed of beard, this shorter man was cleanly shaven and blonde of hair – albeit receding. The two men would have at least been on their forties, and here they stood cowering in their holes like fish in a barrel. “Heard this half-wit mumbling a name, sounded like ‘Armella’ or something,” Tanner stated, and the shorter of the two men glared in Tanner’s direction. “Harmilla!” he snarled in correction, but Tanner couldn’t have a care in the world. Phoenix stood forward. “Do you know who we are?” he asked, and the larger of the two men looked at him. “I couldn’t give two shits who you are, boy,” he growled, provoking Goodbrother to unsheathe his axe. Phoenix raised his hand to steady him. “We are Ironborn, sailed here from the Iron Islands to find Raymun Redbeard. We have no quarrels with you, we just want to know if you have heard of him,” Phoenix repeated, to which the man looked at Phoenix with a hard glare before averting his gaze. “Aye, we know that fucker. A week ago some fucker with red hair came by with a bitch trying to rally us to fight for him. Sent him off to Clan Greymyst. Few days later, some of his followers came by, punched up Ox here and took our people to fight for that cunt,” the man grunted, and Ox nodded. “Harmilla,” the shorter man mumbled with a weak voice. Phoenix looked to Asshkaan with a curious eye. “What do you think?” he asked, to which the red priest frowned. “It’s the best we’ve got,” he stated plainly, then crouching by the hole to look at the giant. “What’s your name?” he asked the giant, and the short coward of the man looked up at his friend with a timid expression. “Ha’akh,” the large man grumbled, and Phoenix raised an eyebrow. “Huka?” Phoenix asked, to which the giant clenched his fists and shook his head. “Ha’akh,” he corrected with a phlegmy voice. “Ha’akh,” Asshkaan pronounced correctly with a wicked smile on his lips. “It appears your people have abandoned you for the Lord’s Chosen, while you and your craven friend here hide in a hole. You will take us to these Greymyst’s, and you’ll give us all your food too,” Asshkaan stated, making Ha’akh fume. “Who the fuck says I’ll do that?” he growled, making Phoenix smirk as he crossed his arms. “Or we could just slit your throats, take your food and burn down your village. It’s your choice really,” Phoenix quipped, immediately rattling the fear in Ox’s eyes. “We’ll go with you!” he uttered with a shaky voice, making Ha’akh groan. “Fuck it,” he grumbled, “pull me out of this hole, and I’ll take you to the Greymyst’s,” he muttered, to which Goodbrother and Quarter-Iron did. “It’s inland,” he grumbled as he brushed the snow from his furs. “Hope you Southerners can walk,” he grunted, immediately widening the eyes of Tanner. “Hwarden, we can’t leave the ship,” he stated with an astounded tone, “it’s our life, we’re Ironborn. If we lose the ship, we’re stuck here,” he reminded him, and Goodbrother nodded in agreeance while Quarter-Iron frowned. “Dagon gave his orders,” Andiron remarked as he crossed his arms, with Asshkaan nodding in agreeance. “The Lord of Light saw to befit Dagon with his wishes, I will not see this mission abandoned over a boat,” Asshkaan stated prophetically, making Tanner snarl. “She’s a ship, priest, and you’re not the one calling the shots here,” he barked, then turning his gaze to Phoenix. Phoenix frowned as he scratched the back of his head. This choice was a difficult one. One of many that would come with leadership, he imagined as he thought sympathetically for Dagon. Asshkaan was right, Dagon had tasked them with this mission and Phoenix wouldn’t disappoint him now; but they were Ironborn, and their power was at sea. If they abandoned ship, Phoenix would likely lose the respect of many following him, and Dagon’s law wouldn’t mean much out here. That being said, this land was treacherous, and heading to Clan Greymyst with a small force could be dangerous. This could be a trap.[Split your forces] [Bring everyone with you]
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Post by WildlingKing on Dec 3, 2019 21:05:44 GMT
[Split your forces] I am a bit concerned that the men left to guard the ship might abandon the mission and desert Phoenix, but it's still the better option than leaving the ship completely undefended and losing the respect of the men.
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Dec 5, 2019 12:52:49 GMT
Alright, this part took me a little longer than I expected, plainly due to me writing about three different avenues before settling on one. This part goes to Matthias Verlen, I think the last of the PoV's that I have yet to write a part for (until now, that is). Matt was introduced in this chapter as a fisherman on the Iron Islands, but that quickly changed as he was sought out by the son of Aldrich Greyjoy: Yeron, who looked to enlist him into the war. Matthias recommended his sister's good-for-nothing partner, Seamus, to also be enlisted for war, and together they left for the fleet. Introductions were made, and Aldrich announced that they would leave at dawn. Matt decided to join Seamus at the tavern, and tried to explain to him his reasons for putting his name forward in becoming Ironborn, yet Seamus remained melancholic. Matthias decided in his drunken stupor that an example of Ironborn virtue needed to be given, and he called for someone to fight him. This fight resulted in Matthias nearly beating the man to death before Seamus pulled him off the man, revealing that he had saved Matt from a soldier that came to intervene with his weapon. The vote was given that Matthias to thank Seamus for saving him. Here goes...
Matthias
Blood flowed down his chin from his nose and mouth as he glared at the pool he was creating in the stained floorboards beneath him. The room felt like it was spinning at a drastic speed, and the blow he had received certainly didn’t render him alert. He lifted his hand to wipe the blood from his face, then turning his gaze to the burly man he had knocked unconscious. It took three men to get him to his feet and drag him out of the tavern. Matthias grinned as he pushed himself upright and clenched his fists.
“Anyone else?” he called as he beckoned the crowd forward to fight him. He gazed wondrously into their eyes, taunting them to make their move. No one did. Weak cunts, Matthias thought with a smirk as the crowd lost interest in him. “Bring me another ale,” he ordered as he looked to the bartender, who gulped awkwardly. “I think it’d be best for you to leave,” the man suggested, but a hard glare put him in his place, and before long Matthias found his drinking horn was refilled with the taverns finest.
He turned his gaze back to Seamus, who glared at his mug with sour eyes. He had never liked that lazy piece of shit, and he had made it his best interest to make Seamus’ life a living hell. Leona didn’t deserve a weakling like that. Matthias had pulled him away from her to make him a man, and war would do that. It had done it for him. Despite everything, Seamus had saved his life, even if Matt didn’t want to admit it. He frowned, urging himself to approach the man and take a seat beside him.
“What do you want now?” Seamus asked with a bitter tone as he hid himself behind the lip of his glass. Matthias rolled his eyes and downed his ale. “You didn’t have to do that earlier, I had it sorted,” Matthias assured him with a firm tone, to which Seamus ignored him. “Seemed it,” he muttered, making Matthias scowl – but he kept his calm to the best of his abilities. “Look, I’ve been a cunt to you and perhaps I underestimated you,” Matthias suggested, making Seamus raise an eyebrow.
“Is that your way of saying thank you?” he asked with a furrowed brow, to which Matthias shook his head. “Don’t try me,” Matt chuckled as he holstered his drinking horn to his belt. “Well, don’t flatter yourself either,” Seamus muttered as he finished his drink. “I know how much Leona looks up to you. I did what I did for her sake, not yours,” he elaborated, making Matt smirk. “And here I thought you were starting to like me,” Matthias taunted, making Seamus roll his eyes.
“Well, I’d say we’ve outstayed our welcome. Let’s go,” Matt suggested, to which Seamus raised an eyebrow. “We? I didn’t do fucking shit, you’re the one whose outstayed their welcome,” he moaned in his defence, but it wasn’t enough to save him from being put in a headlock. “And I say we’re leaving, so let’s go,” Matthias grumbled as he pulled Seamus from his stool and kicked his arse out the door. Just because he saved my life doesn’t make him any less of a coward, Matthias reminded himself, and followed him outside with heavy steps.
Seamus pulled himself up from the mud with a snarky look in his eyes. “So where should we go now, Seamus ol’ boy?” Matthias quipped with a bright tone as he nudged the man back in the mud. Seamus crawled himself away from Matthias before pulling himself up again. “I’m going to sleep. You can go and fuck off,” he grumbled, wiping the muck from his trousers. Matthias smirked. “Why don’t you make me?” Matthias taunted, making Seamus scowl.
“Why don’t you just leave me the fuck alone, Matt,” Seamus moaned, making Matthias grin. “To do what? Cry yourself to sleep? That’s not very Ironborn,” Matthias japed, to which Seamus rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to be Ironborn,” he muttered, and unfortunately loud enough for Matthias to hear. Before Seamus could react, Matthias had him by the scruff of his collar.
“You don’t get a fucking choice, boy. The blood of reavers flows through our veins, and they did not bring you into this world just to be a fucking disgrace. I’ll make sure you understand once we head to war,” Matthias swore to him before releasing him, and Seamus averted his gaze from him, making Matt roll his eyes. “Go, you’re pissing me off,” Matthias grumbled with his permission, and Seamus quickly took his opportunity to leave.
Matt turned his gaze back to the tavern, his eyes falling on a horse trough by the entry. He walked towards it and stared into the water for a moment before dunking his head. His hair dripped back into the drinking trough as he glared at his reflection, and it brought him some amusement. His wet hair reminded him of some of the Essosi he had met with tall standing mohawks, and the tattoo running down his face brought back memories of the Meereen fighting pits. Those were the days, he thought nostalgically as he gazed at himself with tired eyes. He barely noticed the man behind him until he felt his hand grabbing at his hair, and without hesitation the stranger dunked his head under water.
Matt swiped at the hand holding him down, but the man’s strength was over-empowering to his vulnerability. Air escaped Matthias’ lungs as he screamed into the trough, and soon water entered his lungs and filtered his blood. His eyes bulged and his vision reddened until darkness consumed him. What is dead may never die, he heard from a distance unknown, surrounding him and speaking from within him. But shall rise again, harder and stronger than ever before. The voice clenched Matt’s body, and suddenly he was in the sea, sinking to its depths in the hands of the Drowned God. You are one of us now.
No decision.
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Post by WildlingKing on Dec 6, 2019 20:54:50 GMT
Ah, I was wondering if you'd pick up Matt's storyline He was arguably the strangest PoV choice I made for this story, but I did find him pretty enjoyable to write, and he certainly continues to be enjoyable to read here. I'm curious what exactly happened to him there at the end... I'll assume he isn't dead, but either someone is trying to kill him or to baptize him without his consent XD
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Dec 6, 2019 21:23:18 GMT
Ah, I was wondering if you'd pick up Matt's storyline He was arguably the strangest PoV choice I made for this story, but I did find him pretty enjoyable to write, and he certainly continues to be enjoyable to read here. I'm curious what exactly happened to him there at the end... I'll assume he isn't dead, but either someone is trying to kill him or to baptize him without his consent XD Heh, yeah. Matthias is certainly a different angle to write from that’s for sure!
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Dec 8, 2019 8:40:19 GMT
Alright, so I have the next part ready, and it goes to Aegor Rivers the Bittersteel! Once again this part isn't too long, but that's mainly due to me trying to get all the characters up to speed as many of the PoV's aren't in the same time loop as they need to be Anyway, the last choice for Aegor was decided that he would take Rodrik Stark as a squire, and so we'll see where that progresses now as they head to Barrowton.
Aegor Barrowton looked to be a large town, surrounded by walls of crumbling stone, and consisting of wooden homes. The perfect siege. Two thirds of the castle were surrounded by a natural moat that flowed in from the Saltspear, which would have been a good defence against land forces. But not those from the sea, Aegor thought as the Second Sons drew nearer to the home of House Dustin. Beside him rode Beron Stark’s boy: Rodrik, a child of twelve years. He seemed a reasonably bright boy for his age, but had a mouth which would not cease to ramble unless you gagged it. The thought had crossed Aegor’s mind a few times. He gazed at the boy’s short curly brown hair, which barely fringed his big grey eyes that stared at Barrowton tiredly. Aegor suspected the boy had exhausted himself with all his questions, it brought his ears some relief to hear the boy silent. Aegor glanced at their numbers. They were five hundred strong, excluding the few they had left behind at Winterfell: Calla, for her safety, and a few others. I came here to save Blackfyre’s, not endanger them, Aegor thought sternly, but he knew the risks of having brought his wife here. He knew the risks of having brought himself here. Bloodraven would soon find out about them, and then they’d be in a world of shit. Let him come. It was no secret that the tensions between the two bastard brothers had not diminished over the years. For Aegor, his anger and hatred for the white worm had festered like rot in the wound. Brynden had killed their brother, their nephews, and stolen his woman. “You put that boy to sleep with all your tales, Bittersteel?” a voice chimed from behind belonging to Ser Robb Reyne. Aegor shook his head. “The boy did that himself,” he muttered, making Robb chuckle. Beside Robb rode Lord Strickland, who had a cold look in his eye. They were the last of Daemon’s old guard, a trio of shamed men in exile, now returned to Westeros in secret. “How long shall we remain with this drunken fool, Rivers?” Strickland grunted as he glanced ahead to Brus Crowl, who rode with Vogero. “When we went into exile, I swore I’d put a Blackfyre onto the Iron Throne before my death. If I’m to do that, then the Blackfyre’s will need allies. They’ll need the North,” Aegor grumbled swiftly, to which Strickland gave him a firm nod, but Robb seemed less enthusiastic. “I heard you refused to support Daemon’s thirdborn.” Aegor tightened his grip on the reins. “Westeros will not prosper from some faggot-lipped boy with a birthright. Daemon’s rebellion sprung over the very issue of birthrights,” Aegor reminded them begrudgingly, making Ser Robb submit to Aegor’s authority. “So what’s your plan then? Win this war for the Stark’s and try to make them believe they’re indebted to you? We’re little more than sellswords, Bittersteel,” Robb stated, to which Aegor shook his head. “This war is nothing but a cover for us. There are friends of Daemon’s here in the North, and there are some who believe there is need for a change in leadership. We’re going to meet them,” Aegor announced nonchalantly as he turned his gaze back to Barrowton. - Lord Embry Dustin sat on his late father’s chair. He was a boy of eight years, if not younger, and while in his father’s seat it was clear he was not in charge. Beside him stood his sister, Lady Evelyn, who looked to be a hardened woman. Her orange hair was unkempt, and freckles dotted her face while her dark brown eyes stared long and hard into Aegor’s amethyst glare. Her rusted iron mail coated her robust build, and two heavy chains crossed over her chest as was symbol of her husband’s house. House Umber, Aegor noted as he looked now to the man by her side. Hoarfrost Umber was an embodiment of muscle, with an empowering stature that was dressed in a leather brigandine. Unlike his bride, and admittedly Aegor as well, Hoarfrost appeared to take pride in grooming his wavy brown hair, as well as his fine trimmed beard. Calla had informed Aegor of the rocky situation at Barrowton due to the recent passing of the late Lord Dustin, and it appeared the Umber’s had made their strike to cease the Barrowlands through marriage. “We understand you’ve been sent by Lord Beron to reinforce our defence,” Lady Evelyn stated as she took a seat by her younger brother. Aegor stood with Brus Crowl, Vogero and young Rodrik, while their five hundred men waited outside the gates of their city. “Aye, Lord Stark said that he sent the Skaggs here. Where is my brother?” Brus queried with a short tone, and Hoarfrost crossed his arms. “Lord Crowl rode west for the Stony Shore with all his men after Torrhen Stark and Daemon Snow came to rally men. Clearly he felt his mission was beneath him,” Hoarfrost grumbled with spite, making Brus sigh. “I suspected that’d be right,” Brus chuckled, turning his gaze to Vogero and Aegor. “Well, I came all the way to this frozen shithole to fight alongside my brother, not defend some worthless city. Let’s go,” Brus ordered, turning his back on the Dustin’s. Aegor had little interest in arguing, and Vogero seemed to agree, but Rodrik shook his head. “We can’t go! My father wanted us here, that’s what he paid you for!” Rodrik moaned, making Brus grin. “No, your daddy paid us to kill Ironborn. We aren’t going to kill them here,” Brus stated, but this was objected by Lord Hoarfrost. “Lords, the Ironborn have Cape Kraken, they have seized Flint’s Finger and are landing on the Rills. It will not be long before their ships sail up the Saltspear. We need your men,” Hoarfrost explained with concern in his tone, but Brus had already made up his mind. “Not my problem,” he stated plainly, and the three turned to leave, but Rodrik clutched onto Aegor’s leg. “Please, Ser. Father told me knights were men of honour, we have to stay!” Rodrik pleaded, but Aegor shook his head. “Your father didn’t tell you anything about me, boy. Come on,” he ordered, but the boy refused to move. “Knights don’t abandon people who need help,” he mumbled with a sombre tone, making Aegor roll his eyes. Brus was grinning with amusement. Aegor picked Rodrik up and hauled him over his shoulder, making the boy kick and scream with childish anger. “My lords, please,” Evelyn spoke up, and the three turned around momentarily. “We’re not a rich house, but we are a proud one. If you help us, we’ll be in your debt,” she stated, and Aegor turned his gaze to Brus. The man seemed disinterested, but the word did spring in Aegor’s mind. Whether Brus liked it or not, a third of the Second Sons were his to command, and he could do with them as he pleased. Aegor was here to rally the North to support the Blackfyre’s, but would helping vassal houses really get him much? Perhaps we should just continue to the Stony Shore and speak with Torrhen, Aegor thought, as was his original plan. Rodrik hit him in the back as hard as he could, making Aegor growl. The boy would never forgive him if they left, Aegor knew because he was once that boy, but did it really matter? [Remain at Barrowton] [Go to the Stony Shore]
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Post by WildlingKing on Dec 8, 2019 18:40:36 GMT
[Remain at Barrowton] Winning the admiration of Rodrik and the respect of House Dustin seems like a good move from Aegor in this situation.
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Dec 11, 2019 12:31:56 GMT
Okay! So this part took me a little longer to write, and it is a little longer than the short parts I've been writing, but I'm pretty happy with it. It goes to Argus Keding, although admittedly half of the part doesn't shine so much of a spotlight on his PoV XD You'll understand what I mean directly. Here's a recap. The last time we saw Argus he was preparing to sign a contract to fight for the Starks against the Ironborn, but Alistair had spit the dummy at the reward difference they had been offered. Argus' choice had been to suggest a compromise, and he did so by suggested that they split Argus' fifty gold dragons in two, or they walk away. This greatly surprised Alistair, but he was very appreciative. They then left the hall and bumped into Dennis Stone, a ranger from the Wall who had come to inform the Starks of the mutiny at Castle Black and the traitors being loose in the North. They later returned back to the Smoking Log for a drink, where they met with Marcyn of Izulepsia. They talked for a bit before Marcyn sent them off to bed, and as Alistair left, Emilio Rivers miraculously appeared to greet Argus. Argus was curious as to where he had been, to which Emilio claimed he had been seeing a girl, and then he was quick to leave again. Argus found this answer suss, and the last choice decided for him to follow after Emilio and see what he was doing. Let's see where that goes
Argus He bit his lip before cautiously following in Emilio’s footsteps. He spotted the hooded boy disappearing around the corner of the tavern as he egressed from the Smoking Log himself. The boy darted and weaved between the small neat homes that dressed the main gate of Winterfell, and after about ten minutes, Argus felt himself lost in the abundance of repetitive buildings. He was just about ready to give up and return to the inn when he suddenly heard voices around the corner. “Did… tracks?” Argus merely heard as his ear listened to the distorted tone of a woman’s voice. He quietly hugged the wall of a small hut as he peaked around the corner, and spotted the hooded Emilio speaking with a woman he recognised. Ella? It was, her foreign accent was unmistakable, and Argus recognised her purple eyes hidden underneath her messy black hair. “I wasn’t followed,” Emilio muttered as he unveiled himself, revealing his curly red hair. The girl crossed her arms with a smirk. “Do you have it?” she asked, and the boy gulped awkwardly before rummaging through his satchel. He revealed a silver circlet coming to a sharp edge on either side, with a direwolf head on the face of the band. A crown? Argus thought as he tried to figure out what it was Emilio held. “May I introduce you to the crown of King Theon Stark, the Hungry Wolf,” Emilio announced with a cocky tone, and Ella took it from his hands with a beaming smile. “My brother will be pleased,” she stated, bringing a smile to Emilio’s lips. “The crypts are a treasure trove for this stuff,” Emilio quipped, and Ella acknowledged his statement with a nod. “This is all trivial compared to the main prize,” she stated, and Argus raised an eyebrow. They’re thieves? He suddenly heard a creature screech behind him, and his eyes lifted to spot an owl perched on the side of the roof. The bird stared at him before hooting twice and disrupting Emilio and Ella’s conversation. “Did you hear that?” she asked, and Argus heard no response from Emilio. He stared directly into the birds eyes, and as if for a moment, he swore the owl’s eyes rolled back before looking at him again. He began the two walking towards him. Time to leave, he thought as he quickly put one foot in front of the other. He turned his eye back a final time as he heard a screech from the owl, its gaze looming over him before he disappeared into the darkness. - Argus awoke that morning to the sound of marching footsteps. His eyes winced as he pulled himself upright. It was still dark outside, but light was beginning to creep on the horizon. The Bolton’s would march for the Wolfswood soon – it was time to prepare. He walked to Alistair’s bed with heavy footsteps and shook his shoulder, arousing the disorientated man into a grump. “Get up, it’s time to go,” Argus told him, and Alistair sat in his bed for a moment before he pulled himself up. Argus reached under his own bed and pulled out his gear. He donned the chainmail that his father’s blacksmith had forged for him at Phoenixfall, and dressed himself in the tabard of House Keding before hiding himself under a thick grey cloak. He strapped his longsword to his belt – the castle-forged blade had been by his side since he was old enough to wield it. He looked across to Alistair, who carried the same equipment he had when he arrived at the Wall. He wore some leather straps over his shirt, and carried a dulled iron blade he had snatched from the training yard in Castle Black. He had been sharpening it on their journey to Winterfell, but Argus suspected the blade would sooner break against an Ironborn’s shield than do any effective damage. Once they were geared they departed their room and checked out of the inn, exiting to the masses that had gathered in Winter Town for the war. Argus saddled his horse and together they pushed through the crowds and out to the Bolton camp – which had almost been completely packed away now. It was almost dawn, and their eyes met gaze with the Volantene sellsword they had spoken to last night. “Marcyn!” Alistair called with a relieved tone, and the two approached the Volantene and his company. Argus immediately recognised Emilio Rivers to be one of them, although he had eschewed his brown robes for some Stark armour, while the other wore a surcoat of a banner he had first seen the other day - a grey stone head with fiery eyes on a light green field. “Ah, green boys, welcome,” he greeted with his crispy foreign accent, and Argus dismounted his horse to link arms with the Volantene. “Let me introduce you to my friends here,” he stated as he turned to the two men. “This here is Ser Ilyn Baelish, the son of the legendary Baelish,” Marcyn announced in introduction, and Argus nodded to the man. “I am Argus of House Keding, and this here is Alistair,” Argus introduced, to which Alistair cleared his throat. “The Bloodsword,” he added, to which Argus awkwardly nodded. “The Bloodsword,” he uttered in correction, and Ilyn flashed him a smile. “It’s nice to see another face from the Vale here, this war has attracted many from all across the continent,” Ilyn stated with a warm tone. The hedge knight wore armour that looked Essosi, perhaps from Braavos, with a helm that mirrored the one portrayed on his surcoat. Argus had heard of the newly founded House Baelish that had made a home of an old flint tower on one of the northern Fingers. “And this one here is…” Marcyn started, but Argus cut him off. “Emilio Rivers, we are already introduced,” Argus explained with a carefree tone as he eyed Emilio cautiously, he wasn’t sure what to think after what he had seen last night. Emilio flashed him a small smile. Argus turned his gaze back to Marcyn, “Alistair doesn’t have a horse and I’m supposed to ride in the vanguard, can I leave him with you, Marcyn?” Argus queried with an awkward tone, and Alistair flashed him a bitter glare in regards to him being treated like a child. The Volantene nodded with a smirk. “Of course, I’d love to hear more about the Bloodsword and his grand feats,” he stated with a cocky tone, and Alistair appeared embarrassed. Ser Ilyn cleared his throat as he turned to his horse. “I’m to ride with Lord Bolton too, shall we go and see him?” Ser Ilyn suggested, to which Argus shrugged and nodded. The two mounted their steeds, and Argus turned his glance to Alistair with a short smile. “I’ll see you when you finally get there,” Argus jested with a teasing tone, making Alistair roll his eyes. “Soften them Ironborn cunts up for us,” he muttered, making Argus smirk before he joined Ilyn’s side. The two rode through the masses of Bolton men, Argus estimated there were at least three hundred, until they reached the already assembled vanguard. Lord Matthew Bolton sat atop his black destrier with his guards close by, and his son, Jory, was mounted on an armoured courser. “Lord Bolton,” Ser Ilyn greeted as they approached, and Matthew eyed them momentarily before riding over to them. He was donned in hard boiled leather, and the flayed man could be seen in the embroidery on his chest. “Ser Baelish, Lord Keding,” he greeted coldly, pushing a shiver down Argus’ spine. “My infantry will be following within the hour, but I see no reason to keep Lord Stark waiting any longer. Ride with me,” he commanded, then turning to his son. “You will lead the men on foot,” he ordered with a strict tone, and Jory gave his father a firm nod. The cavalry followed behind them as they set off to a paced canter. There was a few miles of clear land between Winterfell and the Wolfswood, and above the thick forest could be seen a red glow, and a great waft of smoke. It was almost as if the sun was rising in the west. “The Ironborn have been torching the woods before entering too deep,” Matthew informed them, making Argus raise his eyebrows. “Why?” he asked, and Lord Bolton held a firm glare on the vast bushland ahead. “Many creatures lurk in the dark, and we Northmen know these woods better than they ever will. Dagon knows that,” Matthew stated sternly, making Ser Ilyn sigh. “He’ll end up destroying the land he’s trying to take,” the hedge knight claimed with a monotone voice, to which Matthew shook his head. “The Ironborn will never take the North, and we’ll make sure of it,” he swore, and from that moment Argus felt a sense of confidence he had been lacking ever since he left Phoenixfall for the Wall. He knew his purpose, he knew his mission, and he knew his duty. He dug his foot into his steed’s ribs, and together with the cavalry they charged on. - After an hour or more of riding, they had reached their destination in the Wolfswood: the forward defence camp of the Starks, and it was nothing like Argus had expected. Ash had fell from the sky like snow, and coated the ground with grey soot and glowing embers. The trees were charred and the smoke in the air choked at Argus’ lungs, while also blotting out the sky. Argus was convinced that what little light resided in this dark forest now came from the fires that were raging within this forest. They were quick to be met by a welcoming party, consisting of a dozen or so men, and only one of relative importance from what Argus could gather. “Lord Bolton, it relieves me to see you here so soon, but was this all the men you could muster?” the man asked, and Matthew dismounted his destrier to pass on to the stableboy. “More are on the way, Rodwell,” Matthew said with assurance as he linked arms with the man. Both Argus and Ser Ilyn dismounted their horses to join Lord Bolton’s side. They immediately gained the eye of the man opposed to him. “And my father has taught me enough of the houses of Westeros to know that these men are not yours,” the man stated as he looked past Lord Bolton. “You are from Phoenixfall, correct?” he asked, to which Argus nodded. “Yes, my Lord. I am Argus Keding,” Argus introduced, to which the man smiled. “Thank you for joining us, Lord Keding, and you… I don’t recognise your sigil,” he stated as he looked at Ser Ilyn, making the man smile awkwardly. “My house is recently founded, my Lord. I am Ser Ilyn Baelish,” the hedge knight stated in introduction, and the man smiled. “Thank you for your service, Ser Baelish. I am Rodwell Stark, son of Lord Brandon Stark. Now that you’re here, Matthew, we’ll summon the war council,” Rodwell stated, and Matthew gave him a nod. “You are both welcome to sit in as well,” Rodwell passed on, to which Ser Ilyn gave him a gracious nod. “We shall follow,” he said, and Argus felt left with little choice but to oblige. It would be a few hours before Alistair and the rest caught up with them anyway. Rodwell was a charming man on his late thirties, similar to Matthew in age, and from the way they interacted, the two men were been close friends. Rodwell had dark brown hair and grey eyes, and was clad in a brigandine with a gorget and pauldrons that were shaped like a direwolf. The Stark heir led them to a war tent that was thickly coated with green leaves, likely to prevent the pavilion from going up in flames with all the embers showing down. Within the tent were a number of lords surrounded over a strategy table. Argus and Ilyn stood back while Rodwell and Matthew approached the table. “Ah, Lord Bolton. It pleases me that you finally grace us with your presence,” the lord at the head of the table grumbled with a thick raspy voice. He was an older man, his grey mane and thick beard flowed down his heavy iron plated armour. Lord Bolton smirked at the old man. “The pleasure is all mine, Brandon,” Matthew remarked with a sly tone, making one of the lords frown. “That’s Lord Stark, to you,” he muttered, but Brandon lifted his hand in objection. “That’s quite alright, Lord Cerwyn. I’d be more accepting with ‘father’, I did raise the boy among my sons for near a decade,” he chuckled, and Matthew grinned. “And somehow I still managed to be the best among them,” Lord Bolton added in jest, spreading a grin across Rodwell’s face as he threw a punch into Matthew’s arm. “Enough of that,” Lord Stark uttered as he fought the smile off his face. “I imagine you’re up to speed with the events we’ve been facing here, Matthew, so I’ll spare you the history lesson. The Ironborn have us by the balls, and they know it. Reports say that Dagon himself has landed at Deepwood Motte,” Lord Brandon announced, and some of the lords around the table looked at each other with concern. One of the larger men drowned a horn of ale before letting out a loud belch. “We’ve been playing soft cock for too long now, it’s time we put these Ironshits into the dirt,” the giant of a man suggested, making one of the older lords around the table frown. “And how would you suggest that, Harmond? By catapulting Deepwood Motte like you suggested with the Blackwood ringfort? The Glover’s are my liege, and I won’t risk their lives with reckless tactics,” the old man stated, making Harmond roll his eyes. Brandon nodded. “I agree, Howar, but Harmond is also right. We have been too reserved with our methods, and time hangs in the balance for House Glover’s fate if we do not act swiftly,” Brandon stated, looking around the table. “We will take back Deepwood Motte,” he announced, and the men around the table nodded. “And how do you propose we do that, my Lord?” a man asked at the far end of the table, and he received some cold glares. Brandon looked at him with a studious gaze. “Kartis Snow, wasn’t it? You’re Kregan Karstark’s bastard?” Brandon asked with a stumbling tone, as if his memory was failing him, and the young man nodded diligently. “Your father speaks admirably of you, more so than his trueborn son. I don’t have an answer for you, Kartis, whatever choice we make will be a risk to Tristifer and his family,” Brandon stated, to which the bastard nodded. Matthew cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should fight this battle on multiple fronts, my Lord?” he suggested, making Brandon raise an eyebrow. “What are you implying?” Lord Stark asked, and Matthew smirked. “Give me thirty good men, and we’ll take care of this rebel king and the Glover’s while you engage with their main forces,” Matthew stated, making Brandon frown, but Rodwell nodded in agreeance. “I could also lead a small force of our army to their boats. If we burn their ships then they are routed. The battle is ours,” Rodwell suggested, and a few lords nodded in agreement. Brandon looked around the table before finally nodding. “So be it. The Umber’s, Karstark’s and Cerwyn’s will march with me against the main gates. Rodwell, you will flank Dagon’s fleet with Lord Forrester. Lord Bolton, you may assemble your team. Once your army arrives, we will prepare for war,” Brandon announced, and the war council came to an end. Argus turned his gaze to Ilyn as he processed everything. I suppose I’d best choose where to go, he thought as he weighed up his options. [Sneak into Deepwood Motte] [Burn the ships] [Join the main attack]
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Post by WildlingKing on Dec 11, 2019 23:23:52 GMT
[Sneak into Deepwood Motte] Let's remain with Lord Bolton, he seems decent. I gotta say, I'm pretty hyped for this battle! Also, this part included many ancestors of familiar characters from the future, not the least among them Ser Thirty of House Goodmen, obviously the grandfather of Ser Twenty of House Goodmen ;D
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Dec 12, 2019 0:00:19 GMT
[Sneak into Deepwood Motte] Let's remain with Lord Bolton, he seems decent. I gotta say, I'm pretty hyped for this battle! Also, this part included many ancestors of familiar characters from the future, not the least among them Ser Thirty of House Goodmen, obviously the grandfather of Ser Twenty of House Goodmen ;D Certainly, this part included many grand houses that we shall see the future development of in ASOIAF. I liked to believe that the evolution of House Goodmen will someday result in the knighting of Ser Ten Goodmen, but with the loss of our beloved Bolton’s and the airing of Ben 10 I fear House Goodmen’s glory days are limited
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Dec 14, 2019 12:21:12 GMT
Oke doke! I have the next part ready, and it goes to Federico. As decided by his last vote, Federico will join Osric in finding Devyn, instead of returning back to Castle Black as ordered. This part takes place a few days after the last, where they are well into their search and on a trail
Federico The sun was setting into the west as Mole’s Town came into view. When Federico had agreed to join Lord Osric in tracking down Devyn, they had returned to Skull Tavern. The inn had been ransacked in the time of Federico’s absence, and the trails of whomever had last been there had led north. They had followed these tracks as far north as the New Gift, and each village they had come across had left them less and less reassured of their choice in direction. Mole’s Town was the last haven for thieves and criminals before the Wall. Their company consisted of half-a-dozen men, most of them as old as Lord Osric, if not older. The only young men among them were Morsh, Federico and Gareth Oaketh – who had chosen to accompany them instead of returning to Castle Black as Dennis Stone had. Federico and Gareth had brought up the rear of the group, while Lord Osric rode with the young Morsh up ahead. Federico glanced across to Gareth on occasion, and he hardly recognised the man that rode with him. Gareth was usually sarcastic and childish in his nature, but now he held a solemn expression, and a coldness resided in his eyes. “When was the last time you slept?” Federico asked with concern, and Gareth kept his focus ahead. “Not since the mutiny,” he muttered with a resenting tone. Federico frowned. “I’ll sleep better once we find this bastard,” Federico thought aloud, and his thoughts were mirrored by Gareth, who gave him a short nod. “We should go ahead. Umber likely doesn’t know Mole’s Town like we do,” Gareth suggested, something which Federico agreed with. They quickly past the group of tired eyes and headed into the seemingly small village. Light peaked out of the small cottage windows, and in the darkness Federico spotted eyes and a puff of mist from each breath of those who kept themselves concealed. They hitched their horses outside the small familiar shack that many a Watchmen had found themselves seeking treasure at; Federico’s eyes got lost in the hanging red lantern for a moment before Gareth shook him out of it. They entered the small cottage and descended down the musky stairwell into the cellars, where they were met by the lusting workers of the Mole’s Town brothel. Much to Federico’s surprise, there wasn’t a single brother in black in the room. “There’s a sight for sore eyes,” one of the women behind the counter said as she spat into a glass. Gareth scowled at her before approaching the bar. “Keeping a full house, Darla,” Gareth grumbled with cold sarcasm as he pulled a mug from behind the counter and slid it to her. She filled it with ale and flashed him a toothless grin. “We ‘aven’t ‘ad many treasure seekers since you lot were last ‘ere,” Darla stated as she pulled a glass out for Federico, but the young ranger shook his head. “We’re looking for someone,” Federico stated, and Gareth took a sip of his ale. “A small man with long dark hair and beady eyes going by the name of Devyn, have you seen him?” Federico asked with a polite tone. Darla raised her eyebrows but shook her head with a frown. “Afraid not,” she mumbled as she dropped her gaze and cleaned the glass. Federico let out a sigh, but Gareth raised an eyebrow. “You’re good at many things, Darla, but lying isn’t your strong suit,” Gareth claimed, making the woman gulp awkwardly. Suddenly the front doors of the shack flung open, and heavy footsteps creaked down the stairwell. “This Devyn killed many of our brothers, and he killed some Umber men too,” Gareth stated as he turned back to meet eyes with Lord Osric, who had a bitter look in his brown eyes. “My friend here, Lord Umber, has come searching for retribution. You wouldn’t want to deny him that, would you, Darla?” Gareth queried as he pointed his mug at Osric, who in turn snatched it from Gareth’s hands and downed the golden ale quickly – wetting his beard and surcoat. There was sweat building on Darla’s brow now, and she kept her gaze well away from Lord Osric. “Damn you, Oaketh,” she cursed, and Federico took a step forward. “Is he here?” he asked, but his voice was less patient than it had been before. “Aye, he’s ‘ere,” she muttered quietly, gazing momentarily to the far wall. “Came with his hounds, took a couple of me girls into the tunnels and said he’d kill ‘em if I spilled,” Darla explained, and Gareth eyed her curiously. “Where do these tunnels lead?” he asked, to which Darla shook her head. “Nowhere. If he’d left, I’d know,” she stated, to which Osric clenched his fists. “Let’s get this son of a bitch,” he growled, and without hesitation his men started tearing up the place in search for the tunnel. Gareth raised his eyebrows with amusement before turning his gaze back to the woman. “Darla, honey, where is this tunnel?” he asked, but Federico had a pretty rough idea as he approached the back wall. He placed his hands on the mudbrick, pushing hard enough for the wall to come loose and push open. He turned his gaze back to the Umber men, who awkwardly halted from turning over the tables. Osric joined Federico before turning his gaze to Morsh. “Wait here with Jorge, I don’t want this weasel escaping behind us,” Osric grumbled, but the boy didn’t seem keen on this plan. “I can fight,” he urged with a pleading tone, but it only served to bitter the old giant. “You can bloody well do as you’re told, boy,” he growled in warning, and Morsh backed down with a lowered gaze. Not another word was spoken. Lord Osric was first to enter, quickly followed by the four other men in his service. Federico turned to Gareth, who had unsheathed his shortsword, encouraging the young Reed to do the same before they followed on. The tunnels were considerably dimmer than the brothel, and narrowed for one man only. Osric and his men had gotten a far way ahead before coming to a stop. “What is it?” Federico called as they caught up with them. “The tunnel splits,” one of Osric’s men explained, and Lord Umber let out a deep groan. “We split up,” he decided, turning back to his men. “The black brothers are with me, same with you, Henrik. The rest of you know where you’re going,” Osric grumbled, and without hesitation he pushed Henrik ahead into the right tunnel. Federico and Gareth followed on as the others in front of them disappeared into the left. Minutes dragged and it felt like they had walked miles; the mud walls felt like they were closing in on them as they crept further down the rabbit hole. I don’t like this, Federico thought anxiously as he took in a deep breath. As a Reed, Federico had been no stranger to mud and dirt while growing up, and that was not what unsettled him. Rather, it was the sense that he was trapped. They were armed, but there was not much a sword could do in these close quarters. Before long the tunnel had opened up into what seemed to be a large cavern. Darla didn’t mention this. Henrik hovered the torch across the rock formations. “Perhaps we should go back?” the old man suggested, his voice carrying as an echo deep into the ravine, but Osric shook his head. “We go forward, only forward,” he stated, and hesitantly the old man nodded, prodding himself ahead carefully. Federico looked back to Gareth, who only shrugged in response as they continued on. In the distance, Federico swore he heard a rumbling growl, but this did not seem to faze the group. Gareth let out a sigh. “What if he isn’t here?” he muttered, and Federico admitted the thought had crossed his mind. If Darla had been told to keep quiet, she could be misleading us still. “Keep your mouth shut, Oaketh,” Osric grumbled, but Gareth wasn’t too complying. “All I’m saying is that we’re deep in the middle of a fucking cave with no idea if that little shit is truly here,” Gareth stated, gaining Osric’s full attention. The grey giant turned and grabbed Gareth by the collar. “Listen here, Watchman, and listen close. I gave you lot some fucking men to find this fuck, and he killed them. I’ll search this whole fucking ravine if I have to, but I won’t do it listening to your flapping cunt mouth,” Osric grunted in warning, and Gareth plainly lifted his hands in submission. Federico turned his gaze, realising their fourth member was not with them. “Where’s Henrik?” Federico asked shallowly, and the three glanced around with alert eyes, but it wasn’t their sight that told them where he was. A frightened yelp echoed from further into the cave, and Osric was already marching towards it before Federico and Gareth had a moment to analyse it. They quickly followed, and what they stumbled on shook Federico to his core. “Gods,” Gareth uttered as he covered his mouth. It was Henrik, or what was left of him. His neck looked like it had been mauled into, as well as his chest, while his leg was caught in a bear trap. Then Federico heard it again, and so did the others – the deep growl of a beast within. “That fucking son of a bitch,” Osric grumbled as he bent down and picked up Henrik’s torch. A trail of bloody paw prints led deeper into the cavern. “I’ll fucking kill him!” he roared in frenzy as he charged deeper into the ravine. Federico gulped as he glanced at Henrik’s mortified expression. “Osric, wait!” Gareth shouted weakly, but it was no use. “Reed, come on!” Gareth urged, leading him by the arm as they followed after Osric along the bloody trail. “Slow the fuck down, Osric!” Gareth called as they ran, and they could barely see the glow of Lord Umber’s torch as they sprinted after him. “He’s fucking fast,” Gareth huffed, and they suddenly heard the panicked shouts of more men joined with the barks and snarls of savage hounds. “This isn’t good, Gareth,” Federico mumbled, and Gareth nodded. “Aye, my fucking arse it isn’t. Just keep running,” he uttered half out of breath. The cave narrowed slightly and began to bend into a natural tunnel. Federico pushed through first, and when popping out the other side he was greeted by a rotting carcass. It was one of Darla’s whores, her body half chowed to the bone, and the smell… Osric’s roar in the distance snapped Federico from his trance, and pushed him forward as the path continued to bend around another corner. Osric’s shouts grew louder and louder before they suddenly fell silent. Federico pushed himself through the tight rocks until he finally found himself in a small open cavern that was decorated with a sleeping mat and bloody bones – at its centre lay Lord Umber, his throat gashed open. “Oh fuck!” Gareth cried as he tumbled onto the scene, and the two lifted their gaze onto the perpetrator. A great beast of a hound stood over Osric with his mauled arm hanging in its jaws. Beside the beast stood the man they were looking for. “Lord Reed, Lord Oaketh, welcome to my den. Forgive my sweet Mathilda, it seems she already started feasting on her evening supper without you,” Devyn announced with a bloody grin as he flashed his knives at them. “Sadly, she’ll have to wait. Sic ‘em, girl,” he growled, and a rumbling snarl escaped the hound’s jaws as Osric’s arm fell from her mouth and she pounced onto Gareth. Federico’s eyes widened with horror as the dog began mauling into his brother, and he quickly stuck his blade into the beast’s shoulder, but this act was met with a screaming retaliation from Devyn. The man jumped him to the ground, punching Federico in the eye before driving one of his daggers into Federico’s ribs, forcing an agonising yelp out of the ranger. Devyn then took two hands to his other knife to try and plunge it into Federico’s throat, something which Federico fought tooth and nail to prevent as he warded him off. Beside him he heard Mathilda whimper with pain, which was enough to distract Devyn momentarily. Federico threw a punch into the kennel master’s jaw, knocking him to the side. Federico glanced over to Gareth, who had managed to impale the beast with his blade, but it hadn’t killed the hound yet. The young ranger pulled himself up with a struggle, and freeing the dagger from his side almost sent him to his knees again in pain. The hound was back on top of Gareth now, and with all of Federico’s might, he threw himself on top of the dog and thrusted the knife into its skull. “NO!” Devyn screamed as he scrambled to his feet. Federico collapsed over Mathilda, which crushed on top of Gareth. “You fucking whore!” Devyn shouted as he charged at Federico, throwing a punch at his cheek before throwing his hands around the ranger’s throat. “I’M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!” he chokingly screamed, and that choke followed through his hands around Federico’s neck. Federico tried to fight him, but as he lifted a hand, Devyn crushed it underneath his leg. Was this it? His bulging eyes stared into Devyn’s black beads of pure rage, and soon darkness began to flood Federico’s vision – until everything stopped. Federico gasped for air as his eyes widened, and above him he saw an equally shocked Devyn, who looked down to see an iron blade sticking through his chest. “F-f-fu,” he mumbled, and the blade twisted in his chest, making Devyn’s final moments as painful as possible before he fell limp to Federico’s side. Their saviour? He collapsed to his knees shortly after Devyn fell lifeless. “Morsh,” Federico wheezed as he clutched onto his wound. The boy said something, but all sound seemed to drown out as Federico felt his world spinning. Then everything went dark. No decision.
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Post by WildlingKing on Dec 15, 2019 21:02:13 GMT
Well, a murder den beneath the Mole's Town certainly wasn't something I expected this plotline to lead to, but it was pretty cool Shame about Lord Umber, but I'm at least glad that Devyn is dealt with now.
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Dec 18, 2019 13:45:36 GMT
Right so I've been a bit busy with work, which slowed down my pace with this part. I do apologise, but overall I'm happy with how it turned out. It goes to Cregard, and his last vote was decided that he would accept Eren's offer. This part takes place a couple of days after, when Eren has delivered on his half of the bargain.
Cregard
The Lord Steward stood outside the Lord Commander’s office overlooking the courtyard. A few days had passed since Cregard had agreed to Eren’s terms, and the Volantene had certainly delivered. Their black brothers revelled with joy as they rolled the barrels of rich Arbor red from the back of one of the wagons; the other full of steel longswords and oaken shields. Eren Meratus stood among them with a wide grin spread across his face, and with him stood twenty men in iron collars.
Cregard could see many nationalities among the men. Some hailed from the Free Cities, others from Slaver’s Bay, and one even appeared to have the brindled skin of a Sothoryi. Cregard had read much of the eastern cultures as a boy, and to see them in the flesh now was remarkable, but admittedly he wished they were under different circumstances. They had come to him as slaves of Eren Meratus, and they would soon become slaves to the Wall. As are we all.
“I can’t believe you bought fucking slaves,” the acting Lord Commander muttered as he exited his new quarters and stood beside him. Cregard frowned as he looked over them. “They were doomed to a life of servitude regardless. Better to the Night’s Watch than a greedy Essosi,” Cregard stated nonchalantly, and received a cold glare from Edric Dayne as he processed what Cregard was saying.
“Have you forgotten that slavery is banned in Westeros? You’ve committed treason,” Edric growled, and for once Cregard stood his ground before Dayne’s wrath. “No, what I have done is free men from their chains and recruited them to our order, as were your orders,” Cregard grumbled, “If that’s not acting in behalf of the Watch and Westeros, then let King Aerys come north and deliver to me his justice.” The two men locked eyes before Edric shook his head.
“You overstepped your place, Stark. I’ll say nothing more about it,” Edric muttered, and Cregard left it there. “When do you suspect Mikhail will depart for his mission?” Cregard asked in a change of topic, and Dayne tapped his fingers against the balustrades with a bitter expression on his purple eyes. “You seem eager to see me removed from office, Lord Stark,” Edric stated with a stern tone, to which Cregard shook his head.
“I cast my chip for you because I believed you would fill the role better than Jorrel could, but do not mistake my judgement for undying loyalty. The office is not yours until we discover the fate of Musgood,” Cregard remarked, and the acting Lord Commander rolled his eyes. “Mikhail left for the Shadow Tower a day ago. I suspect he’ll have his men picked and ready to range beyond the Wall before the break of night,” Dayne stated, to which Cregard nodded with some relief.
“Have all the rangers returned from the North?” Edric then asked, and Cregard nodded with exception. “All but two. Dennis Stone reported that Federico Reed and Gareth Oaketh had joined Lord Umber in tracking a traitor that had killed some Northmen,” Cregard stated, and Edric grasped the railings of the fence with frustration. “Send a raven to Last Hearth to order their immediate return. What deserters remain in the North will be taken care of by the Northmen. My concern now lies with the deserters beyond the Wall,” Edric stated, and Cregard raised an eyebrow with confusion.
“If this Raymun Redbeard is massing an army against us, they’ll learn of the Wall’s weaknesses through these traitors. They need to be found and eliminated before that can be allowed to happen,” Edric elaborated, and Cregard nodded. “Who will you be putting at the head of this mission?” the First Steward enquired, and Edric glanced sternly over the men in the courtyard. His eyes stopped on the one-armed ranger.
“Ramsay Derran,” he announced sternly, and Cregard was relieved with his choice. Not another of his Shadow Tower ‘miracles’, Cregard thought with approval. “He’s the most experienced ranger here after George Rivers,” Cregard stated with support, but this did not faze the Lord Commander, who now turned his gaze on Cregard. “I want you to ride for Winterfell and convince Lord Stark to spare some men for the Watch, even Ironborn prisoners will do,” Edric requested, and Cregard’s brow furrowed.
“Dennis Stone already visited Winterfell, and I have sent ravens to all the Seven Kingdoms as you requested,” Cregard remarked, but Dayne shook his head. “Dennis is a bastard of the Vale, you are a Stark. They’ll listen to you,” Edric muttered, making Cregard frown. “Edric, I don’t think my cousins will be any more supporting towards me than they would be towards any other brother in black,” Cregard stated, but Edric shot him a glare in warning.
“This wasn’t a request, Lord Steward. Pack your essentials, choose your men and ride for Winterfell,” Edric remarked in order, making Cregard sigh. “As you say, Lord Commander,” Cregard remarked, and as he was about to take his leave Edric stopped him. “Have someone fetch First Builder Jorrel for me. I’ll be doubling the patrols atop the Wall and be sending riders to monitor the old castles along it as well, for deserters or wildlings,” Edric stated, and Cregard gave him a firm nod before taking his leave.
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“You mean we’re going to Winterfell?” Broken remarked with beaming eyes as if he hadn’t quite heard Cregard correctly. The First Steward nodded with tired eyes. “Ser Arthor and Sacharia will be accompanying us as well, just in case,” Cregard added, and the boy nodded with excitement. It was clear that the boy had longed for an opportunity to leave the Wall without losing his head, and it brought a small smile to Cregard’s lips to be able to obligate that fantasy. It quickly soured though as his thoughts returned to him of Winterfell. It was never really home.
“Ready my horse, I’ll grab what I need here,” Cregard stated, and the teenager nodded as he quickly egressed the Maester’s quarters, leaving the First Steward with some peace. He let out a sigh as he glanced around the room. The stewards had scrubbed the bloodstains out of the floorboards and tidied the office to its original standard, but even then a darkness still loomed within this room. It haunted the entirety of Castle Black, and while the brothers here may have been recovering, there was a blackness darker than their cloaks that had latched onto each and every one of them; and all Cregard could do was watch.
He let out a heavy sigh as he hobbled across to his desk, reading over the contents of his most recent written letter: addressed to the Lord of Winterfell, informing him of their future arrival. Cregard imagined his uncle was likely fighting against the Ironborn, and knowing Rodwell as a boy, he likely was too. That had left Beron, Arsa and Brandon’s bastard: Lonny. Of those three, Beron was the most collected and rational, so that was where Cregard had put his money. There was of course the risk that this letter would be intercepted by his mother: the late Lady Serena Umber, since she had taken her place at Winterfell after marrying Jon Umber – the late master-of-arms at Winterfell.
Cregard frowned at his memory. Jon Umber was a good man, and the closest thing that they had ever had to a father, and Cregard had watched him lose his life in the war against the Skagosi. That war had been one of the motives to send Cregard to the Wall, above all other things that anyone had heard. That war had torn their family apart; it had shook their mother, made Cregard’s twin: Torrhen, distant and forever enraged, while Arrana and Aregelle had married into their future houses decades before. It had been over seven years since that war, and Cregard hadn’t shared a single word with any of his family.
As if to rescue him from his thoughts, a pounding on the door dragged Cregard’s gaze away from the Maester’s table and to the door of his office. “Enter,” Cregard answered with a firm voice, and in walked two men, one being a man the First Steward recognised to be amongst his order. “Lord Steward,” the man greeted with a polite tone, and Cregard gave him a reciprocating nod. “Nelsor Chalk, what do I owe the pleasure?” Cregard greeted, and the man on his early forties smile as he bowed his head and urged the man behind him to come forward. Cregard raise his brow as he studied the man, or what he might have considered as half a man. He was a dwarf.
“This one says he has come from the Citadel,” Nelsor stated, and Cregard’s eyes observed the multi-metallic chain that hung around the small man’s neck before nodding. The maester stood forward and bowed with a small smile on his face. He was an older man from what Cregard observed, with a head of grey hair and a finely trimmed beard of the same colour. He had a lazy eye that stared inward, while his other blue eye stared firmly at the First Steward. Cregard cleared his throat.
“I see, thank you, Nelsor,” Cregard stated, and the steward nodded before taking his leave. “I am Lord Cregard Stark, the First Steward of the Night’s Watch,” Cregard introduced as he extended his hand, and the dwarf clutched it warmly. “Maester Harrid,” the man reciprocated in greeting and Cregard flashed him a small smile. “I suspect the Seneschal tasked you with replacing Maester Jon,” Cregard stated, making Maester Harrid frown.
“Yes, it was sombre news when your raven reached us, and we grieve in the memory of our fellow brother,” Harrid stated with a saddened tone, but quickly shook away that expression. “I assure you though that I am ready and able to take up his responsibilities here at the Wall,” Harrid added, and Cregard frowned. “Are you sure? Once you take our vows, you are bound to the Wall for life,” Cregard remarked with a reminding tone, and Harrid broke the ice with a small smile.
“I swore an oath to the Citadel and studied among scholars for decades – all their stories were the same. I always dreamed to one day see the Wall, and I believe there will be some very different stories here,” Harrid stated with an optimistic tone, to which Cregard shrugged tiredly, glancing around the room. “Well this will be your office. Apologies, I haven’t had the time to address Maester Jon’s clutter amongst all of my own,” Cregard stated, to which Harrid smiled.
“Leave that to me, it will help me get up to speed,” Harrid suggested, and Cregard gave him a lazy nod as he turned back to the maester’s desk and rolled his letter into a scroll, sealing it with the wax raven of the Night’s Watch. “Upstairs is the rookery,” Cregard stated, and the dwarf patiently followed the First Steward up to it. Cregard fetched a raven and tied the scroll to its foot, releasing it south. To Winterfell, he thought sombrely, which soon awaited him. He tied another scroll for the Last Heart to the next raven. He glanced into the distance for a moment quietly before Harrid cleared his throat awkwardly.
“I assume with the absence of a maester, you have been documenting the death report,” Harrid inquired with a curious tone, and Cregard nodded sternly. “Tell me,” the man started awkwardly with a lump in his throat. “Has Dani Evans been confirmed dead or alive on the report?” the maester asked with sweat starting to build on his brow, and Cregard raised an eyebrow, making the maester blush awkwardly. “Before I became Maester Harrid, I was Harrid Evans. Dani is my nephew,” he explained, and Cregard nodded slowly before frowning.
“Dani isn’t on the report. He requested a transfer to the Shadow Tower before the mutiny,” Cregard stated, and Harrid let out a heavy breath, but the First Steward couldn’t identify if it was a sigh of relief or disappointment. He assumed the former. “Well, I’m sure you have much to do, Lord Stark. Please don’t let me waste your time,” Harrid stated, to which Cregard gave him a small smile.
“I have a long ride for Winterfell, and then Eastwatch again after all this has settled, I expect. I’ll inform the stewards to have my belongings moved from here, please make yourself feel at home.” Cregard shut the cage to the rookery and hobbled slowly down the exterior steps into the courtyard. He spotted Broken across the yard in the stables saddling his horse, and with him were Sacharia and Ser Arthor. Time to go join them, Cregard thought with a small sense of relief, but that was quickly taken from him as a young boy approached him.
“Is that the new maester?” the child asked, and Cregard studied him closely. “Peter Moore, isn’t it?” Cregard stated with query, vaguely recognising their youngest member-to-be. He would have been here during the mutiny, Cregard thought with pity as he placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Would you like to go speak with him?” Cregard asked, and the boy firmly shook his head.
“Blood brings blood, and overhead the vultures await to feast on what remains,” Peter mumbled somewhat prophetically, making Cregard raise an eyebrow. Before he had the thought to ask, Peter was already walking off. Strange, Cregard thought to himself as he turned his gaze back to the rookery. The maester was gone, likely back into his new quarters. Cregard was surprised with just how quick a maester had been to arrive to the Wall, he had only sent out the ravens a few days ago. He let out a heavy sigh and continued to the stables, meeting with his company.
Cregard placed a hand on the knight’s shoulder. “Are we ready to depart?” the First Steward queried, and Broken nodded enthusiastically. Four garrons awaited, saddled and restless. Sacharia had a stern look on his solemn green eyes as he studied the pages of his book before lifting his gaze up to Cregard. “When you are, m’lord,” he stated, and Cregard nodded. “Let’s go.”
They mounted their horses, Cregard tucking his cane behind the saddlebags before sitting high above the ground. He had always loved to ride as a boy, and had grown especially fond of it after becoming a cripple, as if it were his only method of being fully mobile without restriction. He spurred the beast forward, who nickered in response before obeying the command, and the three others followed after them. They were had made it to the main entrance of Castle Black before they were stopped again, this time by a burly ranger with a great axe at his side.
“Can I help you?” Cregard asked as the strong brother stood in their path, and he took a step forward. “Strangely enough that was the question I was going to ask,” the man stated with a smirk, and Cregard raised an eyebrow. The man was long of hair, which matched his short black beard – he stared at Cregard with eyes as blue as the sea. “I am Eadwyn Bravemaul,” he introduced as he lowered his axe. “I heard you were looking to get Ironborn to join the Watch. It’s a cute idea,” Eadwyn quipped with a chuckle, making Sacharia glare at him.
“We’re on an urgent mission from the Lord Commander, you’d best get out of our way,” Sacharia advised him, making Eadwyn smirk. “A mission doomed to fail. The Ironborn won’t follow a Stark to the Wall. Hell, if they did it would only be to inspire a second mutiny and attack Winterfell from the north,” Eadwyn stated, making Cregard raise an eyebrow. “So what do you suggest?” the First Steward queried, and Eadwyn smirked. “I am Ironborn, and my place is at the sea. Bring me with you, I’ll convince the Ironborn prisoners to take the black, and I’ll get that transfer to Eastwatch I’ve been denied twice over,” Eadwyn negotiated, making Sacharia scowl.
“You’re not one to bargain, Bravemaul. Cregard is an officer, you’re a ranger,” Sacharia reminded him, but Ser Arthor started mumbling to himself with a fearful expression. “The Ironborn…” he uttered with a traumatic tone, and Cregard placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him. Perhaps it was a mistake to bring him, given his experience with this war, but he would keep him close regardless of the consequence. He’s not fit to range beyond the Wall, Cregard settled as he then looked across to Bravemaul. He did not know this man, and there were enough risks in the North. Could he risk the word of this man over the obvious risk of him deserting to join his Ironborn brethren?
[Take Eadwyn with you] [Leave without Eadwyn]
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Post by WildlingKing on Dec 20, 2019 17:59:26 GMT
[Take Eadwyn with you] Eh, it'd be good to have an ironborn presence on this mission, and Bravemaul seems interesting enough. Ah, Peter Moore with the prophecies... I gotta say, he's a character I had completely forgotten until that line he spoke in this part "Blood comes to blood" obviously refers to Bloodstar having come to take the Lord Commander's role after the mutiny, but the part about vultures is harder to guess and more concerning.
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Dec 21, 2019 12:21:48 GMT
Alright! I have the next part ready, it goes to our dearest Weasel, and it was decided that Robett would stay at the Shadow Tower. We'll see where that leads in this next part!
Robett
Tom approached with a sad look in his eye and a forced smile on his face which Robett did little to replicate. He had made his choice, and Tom had made his. They would go their separate ways, and that was that. At least, that was how Robett tried to justify it as he turned his loneliness into rage. Tom’s attempt to embrace the Weasel was only met with a cold glare, and the man backed off awkwardly.
“I know you’re mad, Robett. I’m sorry,” he uttered apologetically, but Robett wasn’t ready to hear his apologies. “You’re running away,” Robett seethed with a bitter tone, ignoring that was exactly what they had done by riding to the Shadow Tower in the first place. Tom frowned at him. “My life may be sworn to the Wall, but it will not be served along the path I am on right now. My life is owed to the Seven as well,” Tom tried to explain, but Robett only shook his head. He had heard enough.
“Just go,” the boy muttered, and a final attempt from Tom to connect with the Weasel was met with a cold shrug. The man let out a sigh and turned to the stables, where Dani Evans led a gelding out to meet him. He exchanged some words with the stableboy before mounting the beast and riding south with the company of two rangers – he did not look back. Robett let out a heavy sigh as he watched them ride into the distance, and he barely noticed Dani’s touch on his shoulder.
“He’s concerned for you,” Dani said softly, but Robett didn’t care to hear it, shrugging off the young builder’s hand. “Maybe you’d like to do something to take your mind off of it,” Dani suggested, making Robett raise an eyebrow with a touch of frustration. “What?” he questioned impatiently, making Dani smirk. “Follow me,” he beckoned, and Robett curiously followed the stableboy out of the stables, through two alleys and into the sparring yard.
Half-a-dozen rangers were present in the arena, all dancing with their blunt-edged blades and thick oak shields. On the other side of the yard were some armoured strawmen that some brothers had shot arrows into. Dani pulled a sword from the rack. “What are you doing?” Robett asked him shyly, making the young man smirk. “When I get angry I come to the yards. Usually just to hack the sacks, but today I have a partner. Grab a sword,” he urged, and Robett nervously glanced at the rack of swords.
“I’m no ranger,” he said awkwardly, making Dani furrow his brow. “You don’t need to be a ranger to hold a sword. As our oath goes, ‘all brothers must take up arms to protect the Wall’, now come on!” he goaded as he strutted into the sparring yard. Robett awkwardly gripped the handle of one of the blades as he unsheathed it from the rack, immediately having flashbacks of his first days at Castle Black. He hadn’t held a sword since.
The blade was heavy, and Robett barely had the strength to hold it upright, let alone recover from a single swing of it. He clumsily met Dani out on the field, who twirled his blade around like it was an extension to his arm. Robett stuck the snubbed point of the sword into the dirt to give his arms a rest – apparently a big mistake, as Dani lifted his blade to strike at him. Robett almost fell on his arse as he just managed to lift his blade to dodge the attack, but the momentum sent him to the ground.
“What the fuck!” Robett screamed with a high pitched tone, and he noticed the other rangers in the yard starting to laugh. Dani giggled as he knelt down in front of him. “Wildlings won’t wait until you’re ready, Weasel. Now get up,” he barked in order, and Robett’s cheeks flushed with humiliation and anger as he pushed himself up and took the heavy longsword in his hands. He had barely found a stance before Dani was upon him again, and this time Robett quickly evaded his strike. The Weasel was quick with his feet, he always had been, but this weighty bit of metal slowed him, and Dani was soon upon him again.
Robett caught his strike with the dull edge, his opponent’s blade sliding off his own before quickly returning to jab him in the gut. Robett cursed as he immediately clutched his belly, but Dani was unrelenting. He disarmed the Weasel and lifted his blade to Robett’s chin. “Given up, Weasel?” he asked with a mocking tone, and Robett felt an excruciating pain in his stomach which made his eyes well up. He heard the laughter in the background, he felt weak and ashamed, he wanted to scurry away to safety, and yet he stood his ground. He clenched his fists and scream at the top of his lungs before lunging himself at Dani and tackling the stableboy to the ground, evoking a yelp of panic from the young builder.
It took two rangers to pull Robett off of him, and even still the Weasel wasn’t finished; having to be held back from jumping on Dani again. “What the fuck are you doing, Evans?” a ranger growled from the distance, and Robett recognised it to be Ser Lyonel Crakehall – the knight that had guided Tom and himself to the Shadow Tower. He had a cold look in his deep green eyes, and his chest stuck out like a dominating boar as he approached. Dani scrambled to his feet awkwardly.
“We were just sparring, Ser,” the stableboy answered innocently, and Lyonel glanced hard at Robett before returning his glare onto Dani. “Sparring,” he grunted in a cold remark, and Dani nodded. Lyonel took a step forward and grabbed the boy by the ear. “You may be new here, boy, but you’ve been here long enough to know the rules,” he growled, and Dani nodded nervously.
Before anymore could eventuate, a horn sounded from the distance, and the rangers turned their gaze to see a dozen riders or so approaching from the east. “Who is it?” Robett asked curiously as he rubbed his sore belly, and Lyonel glared long and hard at the party before letting out a relieved sigh. “Frost Blade,” Ser Crakehall stated, and the rangers walked to the gate to greet the riders as they arrived. Robett turned his gaze to Dani curiously, who elaborated. “Mikhail, he’s one of the rangers here at the Shadow Tower; a legend among men,” Dani stated as he went to join the gathering, and Robett followed intently.
“Mikhail, you son of a bitch!” Lyonel growled as he pushed through the crowd to meet the burly ranger, of whom was dismounting his horse. He flashed a wide grin and embraced Ser Lyonel. “Been biding your time here, I see,” Mikhail stated with a voice that was gritty and harsh, and the knight nodded. “I take it Commander Dayne is still at Castle Black,” Lyonel assumed, and Mikhail nodded with a smirk.
“It’s Lord Commander Dayne now, and I think he’ll be at Castle Black awhile,” Mikhail claimed, and the men cheered with boast. Robett felt a hollowness in his chest. Does that mean what I think it means? He wondered as he glanced at the two men with concern. “He’s named me First Ranger, until such means that Rivers or Musgood are found to say otherwise. I’m pulling together a team to go find them,” Mikhail stated, and before Lyonel could get a word in, Dani spoke up.
“You’re going beyond the Wall?” he blurted, and Mikhail turned an impatient eye towards Dani. “Aye,” he grumbled, and Dani straightened his back. “I wish to volunteer in going with you,” Dani stated with a humble tone, but even Robett could hear he had an ulterior motive. He wants to find his brother, Robett assumed, but Lyonel shook his head. “You’re a builder, Evans. Your place is at the Wall, not beyond it,” Lyonel reminded him, but Dani shook his head.
“I’m not going to shovel horseshit and count bricks while you look for the Lord Commander. You know I can fight, Crakehall. I’m going with you,” Dani stated firmly, and Lyonel took a step towards Dani in warning, but Mikhail pressed a hand on the knight’s shoulder. “Bloodstar named Crakehall as the acting Commander of the Shadow Tower, so he’s not going anywhere,” Mikhail claimed, now walking to Dani.
“I’m leading this ranging, boy, and I’m choosing who’s going with me. I’ve got two dozen handpicked rangers who qualify better than you. Why should I change my mind?” Mikhail queried as he looked hard into Dani’s eyes, and to Robett’s surprise the boy stood his ground. “Put me against your best, I’ll prove to you that you need me on this mission,” Dani stated boldly, and brought a hearty chuckle out from the Frost Blade.
“You’re a cocky little shit, and you’ll likely get yourself killed if I let you come with me, I don’t need that on my conscious,” Mikhail grumbled lightly, and his rangers joining him in laughter. “But rest assured that you won’t be shovelling horseshit. Bloodstar wants Westwatch reinforced. If there’s any truth to this wildling army, they won’t be crossing the Bridge of Skulls,” Mikhail grunted, to which Lyonel reluctantly nodded.
“I’ll make sure our builders get onto it,” Lyonel muttered, pulling Dani back. Mikhail nodded, but before passing, his eye fell onto Robett. “A new face?” Mikhail stated with curiosity, and Lyonel spoke up. “His name is Robett. He was Lord Commander Musgood’s steward,” Crakehall stated, making Frost Blade raise an eyebrow.
“Is that right? And how was it being Jolly Jack’s cupbearer?” Mikhail queried with a mocking tone, to which Robett shrugged. “He was a nice man, good to serve,” Robett stated honestly, making Mikhail smirk. “Well I’d never make this offer, but as you’re Musgood’s steward I’ll make an exception. If you wish to join us in finding the Lord Commander, you are welcome, but we’re not going to carry deadweight. Can you hold your own?” Mikhail queried, and Robett gulped awkwardly. He glanced across to Dani, who was fighting hard to contain his rage.
This offer had thrown him off guard, he never expected to be given the opportunity go beyond the Wall, or even to see a wildling. Yet he knew this wasn’t a game, he had seen death… committed murder, and he heard Tom’s words ringing in his head. It would be dangerous, and Robett knew he was hopeless with a sword. Do I even want to help the Lord Commander after he abandoned us? Robett thought as he glanced back at Dani. The stableboy was probably his only friend at the Shadow Tower, and perhaps it would be safer behind the confines of the Wall.
[Join the ranging party] [Stay with Dani]
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Post by WildlingKing on Dec 22, 2019 18:47:39 GMT
[Stay with Dani] Let's be friends with Dani, that should sooner or later get Robett down an interesting path even if he won't be going beyond the Wall right away.
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Dec 27, 2019 11:23:37 GMT
What a busy last few days! Merry Christmas to all! Although it's almost closer to the New Year now, much to my shock. No time to waste then, and I have two new parts ready to go. One goes to Edric Mormont, and from his last choice it was decided that he would drop his bow and show some caution in regards to Victor being taken captive. The second PoV is a new (kind of) PoV, and I won't say anything more about that! There's unfortunately no choices to these parts, and I seem to be in the mood of knocking PoV's out at the moment, but anyway! Enjoy
Edric The ranger eyed the three foes with a boiling rage in his eye before throwing down his bow, bringing a satisfied smile to the wildling woman’s lips as she rested her hands on her hips. “Flint, tie him up,” she barked, and Rickard nodded obediently as he unravelled some rope from his belt and pulled Edric’s hands behind his back. Victor lowered his gaze, a look resembling almost disappointment in Edric’s actions – or lack thereof. Even Edric wondered if he had made the right choice. When his hands were bound he and Victor were lifted to their feet, their weapons collected by Jullon while Rickard kept a firm hold on the two of them. The wildling woman smirked as she eyed them both. “We was told you crows were around here, what is it you’re looking for?” the woman asked with an enchanting voice which made Victor shy his gaze away, but Edric held a firm glare on the wildling bitch. She was young, perhaps only a few years older than Edric, and with notably appealing features – not that Edric would admit that. She was a vile creature of the North, as were the rest of them. Her luscious curls of silky amber or frozen blue eyes wouldn’t change the Wild Bear’s opinion on that. “Well?” Her voice was growing impatient, and her displeasure pleased Edric enough to bring a smirk to his lips. It caught her attention. “Something amusing to you, crow?” Edric narrowed his glare on her, but before his words could spill onto her like an alchemist’s wildfire, he received a hard blow into the gut which brought him to his knees. “Spineless bitch,” he gasped as his breath escaped his lungs, something which brought this woman delight as she knelt down to his level and unsheathed her dagger. Edric lifted his gaze and spat in her face. “Untie me and I’ll show you a good fight,” Edric uttered with a weak tone, making the woman smirk. “You’re not worth the trouble,” she chastised, and as she lifted the dagger to his throat, Victor spilled. “Please, leave him be!” he begged, and both Edric and the wildling woman shot their gazes at him. The girl pushed herself upright while kicking Mormont down. “You don’t give orders here, crow. We’re Free Folk here,” she stated as she twirled her blade in her hands. Victor gulped as he averted his gaze from the knife. “We’re not here to fight,” Victor exclaimed, “we’re looking for someone. One of our own,” he explained, and Edric’s face soured. Craven! Had his lungs permitted, he would have shouted it. “Crows looking for a crow? How noble,” she chortled with a grin, but her expression died as her gaze landed on Edric. “Yet I’ve heard other things about you lot,” she stated, turning her gaze back on Victor. “Word is you’re looking to learn about Raymun Redbeard.” “Carley,” a voice called from within the forest, and they turned to meet eyes with two riders in black – one of familiarity. Khort? Edric thought with confusion as he glanced at the ranger’s heavy dark hair that fell to his shoulders. Beside him rode another ranger that Edric merely recognised, although he was donned in brown and red furs as opposed to black. “Bael,” Carley exclaimed with a longing tone as she turned to meet him with dreamy eyes. Bael dismounted his garron, which Edric quickly recognised to be one of theirs, and took his woman around the waist. “You have company,” Carley exclaimed as she gently pushed Bael’s rough affection off of her, and they turned to look back at Khort. “Aye, an old friend from the Wall. He’s one of us now,” Bael stated with a malicious tone, and Khort dismounted his gelding to greet the deserter’s wildling woman. Edric couldn’t hold his tongue any longer. “You fucking traitors!” he cried, as loud as his airless lungs would allow him, and he received a blow to the side of the head from Rickard Flint. Khort turned his gaze onto Edric and approached, pressing his boot on the young Mormont’s cheek. The Wild Bear felt nothing but the cold on his other as he was pushed into the snow. “I told Musgood we shouldn’t have brought an inept little shit like you beyond the Wall. You’ve dug your own grave, boy,” he growled as he spat on him, and Victor grimaced. “Khort, where is the Lord Commander?” Victor asked with a fearful tone, and Bael Rangeld smirked. “Jolly Jack near shit himself when he got stabbed in the back from Khort over here,” Bael exclaimed, and Victor’s face dropped. “You killed him?” the boy mumbled, but Khort shook his head, and Bael answered for him. “He lives, but I can’t imagine his next holder will be so merciful to his kind,” Bael stated with malicious intent, and Edric clenched his fists behind his back. “I’ll fucking kill you, Khort!” he shouted, and the ranger – no, ex-ranger – let out a condescending chuckle. “Boy, if you were half the man you make yourself out to be then you’d have killed me days ago. Alas, you can’t do shit,” he taunted as he twisted Edric’s cheek underneath his boot. Bael flashed a bloody grin towards them before turning his gaze to his woman. “Carley, let’s take our new guests home,” he suggested, and the girl jumped into his arms with glee. Khort knelt down and peered at Edric underneath his boot. “Now you’re going to wish you were fucking dead,” he spat before standing up, and without a second warning he unpinned Edric and sent a hard kick into his head. The Wild Bear’s gaze rolled onto Victor, who received the same treatment from Jullon, before sliding up to the cloudy sky that was thickly covered by the trees of the Haunted Forest. He felt a second kick to his skull, and everything went dark. No decision.
Melinda The Queen shuffled her hands coldly as she stared into the burning coals of their cottage hearth. She had tucked her sons into bed not more than an hour ago, and still she felt wide awake. Something gnawed at her side, leaving her with great discomfort in her spare hours, and she could not pick what it was. She lifted her gaze up to the few faces that had gathered around the fire for her company. Konnor had been with her and the boys before Raymun departed to rally the Free Folk; an event which seemed so long ago, and his presence was always welcome. Melinda had almost come to think of the man as her own brother, and were it not for his curly black hair and hazel eyes, she might have been able to convince others of that thought as well. Konnor was a man on his late twenties, a Nightrunner born and bred, and a close friend of their family since he had been a young boy. He had wildly supported Raymun’s ideals when Melinda’s husband announced his plans to raid the south on a mass scale, and he had served him well in convincing the other Nightrunner tribes to follow Raymun. Yet when Raymun turned his growing eye on the Hornfoots for an allegiance, many Nightrunners were unsure of this plan, and Konnor was quick to volunteer in remaining with Raymun’s family instead of joining them. Melinda understood of course, the Nightrunners and Hornfoots had been at each other’s throats since as long as she could remember, and during one of their skirmishes Konnor had lost his twin brother. Mel shifted her gaze to the others who kept them company. Tyno Hatryan stared at the pages of his book through his thick shaggy hair, which was as brown as the dark woods that surrounded them. Tyno had once been a ranger of the Night’s Watch, and Raymun had found him almost frozen to death uttering nonsense tales which they had used to put their children to bed. Many in their clan had wanted to open his throat - admittedly Mel had as well initially - but Raymun had found a soft spot for the crow, and thus Tyno had become a Nightrunner. He was an astute and agile man, younger than Konnor, and urged to remain here while Raymun went off to war. Finally, Melinda turned her glance onto Gronn. He was Mel’s senior by half a decade, and he had made that thoroughly known after he took charge with her when Raymun had left. He was a big man, tall and strong with a bald head and a thick moustache, and his life had been one of war and death. War against other Nightrunners, war against Hornfoots, war against crows. There was no shortage of words to be heard from Gronn in regards to his pure disapproval of Raymun’s plans to consult with the Hornfoots, and he outright refused to march alongside them. As a member of the Free Folk, he was free to make that choice, but such had soured the relationship between him and Raymun – and admittedly with Melinda as well. He stabbed at the coals with a cold look in his eye. “How long until you think she gets back?” Konnor asked with a concerned tone, and Melinda lifted her gaze. Konnor was referring to Clara Narder, a girl in her rebellious youth which unfortunately her eldest son had taken a liking to. She shrugged, laying her head back and resting her eyes. “She’s a strong girl, I’m sure she’s fine,” Melinda stated with little care, a reciprocity to the girl herself. Konnor let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t like that we just let her go out on her own, especially with crows out,” Konnor elaborated, making Gronn scoff as he jabbed his stick into the fire. “You scared of some crows, boy?” the old man chastised, making Konnor glare at him, but it was Tyno who spoke. “We offered the girl company, she said she wanted to meet this mystery person alone,” Tyno stated in reminder, keeping his eye well focused on his book. Gronn let out a light chuckle. “Stubborn girl has more balls than some. I’m sure she’s off stealing herself a husband,” Gronn suggested carelessly, making Konnor frown. “Or she’s doing something useful, as we ought to be doing,” Tyno proposed as he closed his book, making Gronn move his condescending glare onto the young man. Melinda lifted her head, giving Tyno her attention, and the man gulped awkwardly as he glanced into the flames. “We’ve been sitting on our arses for weeks. We should be rebuilding,” he urged, making Gronn sneer. “Rebuilding what? Raymun’s army was doomed to collapse before it even came together. I told him,” Gronn grumbled with an irritated tone. “The moment he decided to bring the rest of the Free Folk in this was the exact moment he lost this war. Mark my words,” Gronn stated, and Melinda shot him a glare in warning. “Keep your voice down, Grump. Don’t need your pessimism being heard by the children,” Melinda muttered, to which Gronn rolled his eyes. Konnor shook his head. “Gronn’s right, Mel. I’m sorry, but Raymun was too ambitious. I consider that man as a brother, but he lost himself,” Konnor uttered with a hushed voice, and Melinda resisted the urge to shoot him down there and then. She knew some of Raymun’s acts had been questionable, but it was not her place to stick fingers in his decisions. He was her husband, and her king, she would not abandon him. “Have you forgotten your place? You speak ill of a man who is fighting to give us true freedom. I want to wake in the morning without fear of a big wall of crows peering down at me and my children, or if we will have enough firewood to survive the next winter. We’re just as much prisoners as we are free,” Melinda stated, and Konnor lowered his gaze with an apologetic frown. Gronn however had little sympathy, rising to his feet and approaching her. “There’s no place that you speak of. I’m happy with a big wall of crows keeping the true monsters out of the true north,” Gronn muttered, locking eyes with Mel. Tyno gripped the sides of his chair with unease. “If you had seen what I have seen, you wouldn’t blink an eye to holding hands with the Southerners,” Tyno stated with a fearful tone which made Mel raise an eyebrow, but Gronn only let out a frustrated groan. “The day we go south is the day we lose who we are, and then we become no better than those who think themselves above us,” Gronn grumbled as he grabbed his axe and headed out the door without another word. Konnor’s gaze followed him out before he turned back to Melinda. “I want what you want, Mel. I want what Raymun wants, but I don’t know how you propose we get that now with everything lost,” Konnor uttered, to which Melinda sighed. “Is that how you truly feel?” she replied, but it wasn’t her voice. They all turned with widened eyes to see the man they held in high esteem egressing from Melinda’s bedroom – it was their king. Raymun had a wooden crutch wedged underneath his arm to support his wounded leg, which was wrapped in linen from his thigh down to his bare feet. He wore a loose and tattered cloth shirt, and the heavy bags under his eyes looked as if he hadn’t slept for a week. He didn’t look like a king, he looked just like any other man, and yet Mel looked into his blue eyes and felt a strength she had never felt before. She rose to her feet. “My King,” she greeted with surprise as she walked to embrace him, and Raymun flashed her a small smile as he gently accepted her into his arms, making sure not to concern her with his wince. “You should be resting,” she advised him, but Raymun shook his head, and she guided him to the fire. “I have rested long enough, and as Tyno mentioned earlier, there is work to be done,” Raymun stated lightly, and Melinda gently sat him in his chair. Konnor flashed the man an embarrassed smile. “It’s good to see you up again, Raymun,” he stated with a warm tone, but Mel could see that her husband wasn’t interested in subtleties at this moment. “This isn’t about me, Konnor. It never has been,” Raymun uttered as he shifted his stiff leg towards the fire, and Konnor raised an eyebrow with confusion, to which Raymun continued. “I know many disagreed with my plans to unite the Nightrunners and Hornfoots, but many fail to see beyond their own feeble ambitions. My goal has never been to raid the south, never, but to save the Free Folk,” Raymun stated sternly, and Konnor glanced at him with understanding eyes. “ All of the Free Folk,” Raymun emphasised before resting his head back. “That plan hasn’t changed because of one lost battle. I suspect I will lose many more before the deed is done, and if I don’t live to carry on this future, I need my sons and family to carry it on for me,” Raymun stated with importance, turning his glance across to Konnor. “You are just as much my family as my wife or my boys.” Konnor’s gaze saddened as he gave Raymun a firm reassuring nod. “We must rebuild, and we must continue to build. I cannot do this on my own, which is why I need you all,” “Tyno, I want you to seek out the Cave Dwellers, and I will entrust Gronn with pulling the Nightrunners in line,” Raymun declared, and Tyno gave an obedient nod. Mel let out a sigh. “What of the others? Rumak and Harron Crowsbane? Do we just forget about them?” Mel uttered unreasonably, and Raymun gently shook his head. “No, my Queen. Fleshbearer has made himself an enemy, and I will avenge those who gave their lives for me,” Raymun swore, but Konnor could not resist. “How?” Mel frowned. They had all thought it, and none had an answer. There was nothing they could do, or at least so they thought. “Have you ever heard of the old adage, ‘an enemy of my enemy is my friend’?” Raymun queried, to which Konnor raised an eyebrow and nodded, bringing a small smile to the king’s bearded face. “I sent Clara to meet with someone who likely has just as much hate for Fleshbearer’s kind as we do,” Raymun stated, and Melinda raised an eyebrow. “The Thenn’s?” she queried, to which Raymun gave her no response, and instead struggled himself out of his chair – which Mel quickly came to his aid with “Come with me,” he beckoned, and both Konnor and Tyno arose from their seats to follow them out of the cottage. There was a cold bite in the night air, and Mel immediately had concern for her half-naked husband, and yet he seemed to be unaffected from the cold. They hobbled some twenty metres away from the cottage into the forest, until Raymun stopped by a tree and stood patiently. “What are we waiting for?” Tyno asked anxiously as he glanced around the black wood uneasily, and suddenly they saw two flames approaching them from the distance. As they grew nearer, Melinda identified two women. One of them was Clara Narder, the radical youth who had a grin spread across her face. Her wavy blonde hair hung as a mess down her shoulders, and her big green eyes looked at Raymun with delight. Yet Melinda could not share such exasperation in remarks towards her, nor the older woman that accompanied her. Amathe, Melinda recognised with a spiteful realisation, and it wasn’t long before the two women locked glares. Raymun subtly grasped his wife’s forearm, and it was a good thing too. Yet of all the unexpected and unwanted surprises, the biggest had to be the veiled man that they dragged behind them. Mel turned her gaze to Raymun curiously, but her king stared dead ahead. “Clara, you’ve done well,” he remarked with a pleased tone, and the young girl smirked as she tossed the man to the ground before them. “Naturally,” she stated with a cocky tone and a clumsy bow. Amathe stood forward, her face dressed with scars that her raven black hair could never hide, and her dark eyes doing well to avoid Melinda’s rage. Raymun greeted her with a small smile. “Amathe, it’s been a long time,” Raymun stated, and Amathe glanced at Melinda momentarily before nodding. “Not long enough,” she suggested coldly before lifting their hostage to his feet. “You sure you know what you’re doing?” she asked, and Raymun nodded with an appreciative smile. Melinda noticed Konnor taking to his axe with precaution, and Tyno noticed the black gowns of the man as Mel did. With a firm nod, Clara unveiled the man, revealing a beaten face that had resulted with a half closed eye. His short black hair was messy, his weary blue eyes tired and in pain, and his heart-shaped beard immediately made him recognisable. Mel heard Tyno gasp, and Raymun spoke. “Lord Commander,” he greeted with a cold tone, and the crow lifted his gaze to meet Raymun’s eyes. “I hear you have been looking for me.” No decision.
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Post by WildlingKing on Jan 7, 2020 22:14:44 GMT
Ooh, those were some interesting developments in both parts. I'm now especially excited for Raymun's storyline, though that's probably obvious since his journey was the very thing that inspired me to start this story all those years ago This is the first we've seen him since you picked up WBW, and I must say you've written him well here. P.S. Sorry for taking so long to give my thoughts this time, 'twas a busy holiday season and I kinda took a break from all the story stuff. I'm back now though! I'll get around to writing the pm soon as well.
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Jan 9, 2020 1:45:26 GMT
Ooh, those were some interesting developments in both parts. I'm now especially excited for Raymun's storyline, though that's probably obvious since his journey was the very thing that inspired me to start this story all those years ago This is the first we've seen him since you picked up WBW, and I must say you've written him well here. P.S. Sorry for taking so long to give my thoughts this time, 'twas a busy holiday season and I kinda took a break from all the story stuff. I'm back now though! I'll get around to writing the pm soon as well. Hey! I suspected the holidays would have hampered your time writing as it did mine, I really embraced it more than I'd liked to have thought it would that being said I've got the next part ready to go since your return inspired me to finish it, so I'll post that soon! Heh yeah and I know I said I wasn't planning on introducing him this chapter too, but yeah things change! Glad you enjoyed the parts
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Jan 9, 2020 1:55:23 GMT
Ha, so I was hoping to have this part ready on New Years day to greet you with a Happy New Year, albeit by New Year has been nothing too happy with a death in the family and the unavoidable fact that my country is on fire and our Prime Minister is more concerned about the cricket. So with all this chaos in mind, I thought I'd get this next part out before WW3 breaks and we get drafted away from our beloved stories (I really shouldn't joke about it, knowing how close I am with Murphy). Anyway, here's Maya's new part. Her last choice decided that she would leave Ivan Longbeard's hut and take Cassi with her. This part takes place a few hours later.
Maya It had been five hours since Maya had descended from Ivan Longbeard’s hut back to Arvid Halvor’s village, and for five hours she had waited with a dagger in her hand as she glared at the main entrance of Arvid’s hall. She had brought Cassi with her; the girl had almost frozen death before they made it back to safety, and she hadn’t left Maya’s side for a single minute since her rescue. The bastard girl sat beside her with her knees tucked up to her chest – she hadn’t spoken a word since they arrived. “Maya,” the soft voice of Alexia called as the Hornfoot girl approached with Dakvidih by her side. Maya reluctantly shifted her gaze onto her travelling companion, who looked at her with concerned eyes. “Are you alright?” she queried with a timid tone, and Maya’s glare did not weaken as she stared at the woman. “What the fuck are we doing here, Alexia? Why the fuck would Raymun want a man like him?” Maya asked with resentment as she then glanced at Cassi. Alexia frowned, crouching beside the bastard girl. “We’re not here to be friends. We only need what he knows, he was the leader of the crows once, as I said,” Alexia reminded her, but Maya shook her head as she glared back at the main doors. Cassi’s eyes lifted for a moment before dropping back to the floor. “All crows should die. That cunt is no exception,” Maya grumbled, and Alexia nodded in agreeance with her, but Alexia’s reserve knew that Ivan’s life still had worth to Raymun’s cause. Dak let out a nervous groan as he paced beside them. “I think I should go back up there, see what’s going on,” he suggested, more to himself than anyone else, and Maya scoffed in response. “To do what? Suck Ivan’s cock? Or perhaps your father’s?” Maya jeered, and the son of the Nightbane turned his glare onto her. Even Alexia scowled towards Maya’s attitude, but the Miracle paid no mind to it. As if to break the tension, the front doors to Arvid’s hall swung inward, and in entered half-a-dozen men. At their head was a shorter man with lengthy brown hair, greying with age, and an eyepatch over his left side. His expression was placid and his eye tired, but a smile gleamed as his gaze met with the young Halvor. “Halfthenn! How was your hunt?” Dak exclaimed with warm greeting, and the man approached and linked arms with the boy. “Fine enough, it’s a shame you and Arvid couldn’t have joined us. Speaking of, where is he?” he queried, and then his gaze fell upon Maya and Alexia. “We have guests,” he observed, and Dak nodded. “Nightrunners and Hornfoots,” Dak explained, glancing over to Terry in the far corner of the hall. “They are messengers of Raymun Redbeard: the King of the Nightrunners and Hornfoots,” Dak retorted, and the man raised an eyebrow before nodding slowly. “Grim. I am Ivar Halfthenn,” he introduced dryly, then turning back to Dak. “Where is your father?” he asked again, and Dak gulped awkwardly. “He is up the mountain, speaking with Longbeard,” Dak stated cautiously, and Halfthenn frowned, glancing at Maya and Alexia a moment before turning his gaze back on the young Halvor. “Walk with me,” he muttered sternly, and Dak eyed the man curiously before following him to an adjacent room. Maya exchanged glances with Alexia, who only shrugged before standing up and walking off. Maya let out a heavy sigh, resting her head in her hands. “Maya?” a voice whispered, and Maya lifted her gaze to source its origins to Cassi Snow, who stared at her with her big indigo eyes. The girl seemed afraid and nervous, but Maya sensed a strength in her that was buried deep. She flashed the girl a small smile, which she reciprocated. “How are you feeling?” Maya asked her with a caring tone, and the girl nodded shyly as she lowered her gaze. “You saved me,” she mumbled, “I owe you my life,” she claimed, to which Maya shook her head. “No you don’t. You’re free of that creep now, you’re free to do whatever you choose,” Maya stated, and the girl glanced back to her with pleading eyes. “Can I stay with you?” she asked, her voice shaky and persuading enough for Maya to be conflicted. She didn’t want to leave this girl alone, but she knew the dangers her life had entailed for her, and bringing a child into that world was not right. “Don’t you want to be free? Make yourself a home and steal yourself a husband when you’re of age,” Maya suggested, and the girl furrowed her brow in confusion. Maya sighed as she glanced at the girl. “Your last name is Snow, you’re a bastard right? From south of the Wall?” Maya queried, and a sadness reflected in Cassi’s eyes as she nodded. “How did you end up in the true north? Where is your family?” Maya wondered, and Cassi fiddled with her fingers nervously. “My father is the son of the Lord of the North; he’s lives at Winterfell, with all my brothers and sisters,” Cassi explained, and Maya’ eyes widened. She had heard of Winterfell, the home of the Starks. “And you never felt like you belonged?” Maya assumed, to which the girl nodded. “My father always said to me I could be whatever I wanted. My sisters all wanted to be princesses and ladies, and I wanted to be something else. I remember how he laughed when I told him I wanted to join the Night’s Watch,” Cassi remarked, and Maya smirked. “So the lone she-wolf wanted to join the Wall of Crows, eh? They’re all cunts anyway, you’re not missing out on anything,” Maya assured her, to which the girl shrugged. “Most of them are,” she confirmed, and Maya raised an eyebrow, to which the girl elaborated. “I ran away from home when I was eleven, cut my hair and said I was ‘Herran of the Stormlands.’ I was at the Wall for two years as a ranger before I was given my first mission beyond the Wall,” Cassi stated with reminiscence as a tear came to her eye. “We left from the Shadow Tower, trekked through the Skirling Pass and climbed the Frostfangs. When a blizzard hit us we were forced to take shelter at an abandoned hut in the mountains, or at least we thought it was. Ivan killed my friends, and when he discovered I wasn’t really a boy…” Cassi was choking on her tears as she cradled herself. “I had been locked in his room for a year,” she mumbled, broken and timid. Maya glanced at her weak composure and immediately her own crumbled, and she took the girl into her arms. “If that fucker isn’t already dead, I’ll make sure you’re the one to kill him,” Maya promised her, and the girl looked up to Maya with wet eyes that were uncertain. Maya pulled the girl close until she settled, and Terry Snowflake revealed himself to them. Maya frowned as she separated herself from the girl and gazed at her other companion. “What do you want?” Her tone was colder than the winter lands that surrounded them. Terry knelt beside them with a concerned look on his eye, and he ran an awkward hand through his scruffy blonde hair. “I overheard Dakvidih and Halfthenn talking,” he muttered with a lowered gaze, and Maya furrowed her brow with confusion. “So?” she asked with an impatient tone, to which Terry rubbed his hands nervously. “Ivar said he and the others walked into the remnants of a battlefield on the edge of the Northern forest. He mentioned something about Hornfoots and Thenns, and the Ice River clans,” Terry remarked anxiously, making Maya raise an eyebrow. “Maya, I think Raymun is dead,” Terry concluded with a stern tone, and the Miracle’s eyes widened with horror before she shook her head. “No,” she grunted with disbelief, and Terry past her a sympathetic gaze. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, but Maya wouldn’t hear another word of it. She pulled herself up and approached Dak and Ivar with heavy steps. “Is it true?” she yelled needlessly, which caught Alexia’s attention, as well as everyone else in the hall. Ivar stared at her with a cautious eye, and Dak lowered his gaze. “Is what true?” Alexia asked as she came to join Maya’s side, making Halfthenn sigh. “The armies of the Raymun Redbeard and Magnar Krygorn were defeated by the Ice River clans. Their corpses are left for the birds and scavengers,” Ivar stated coldly, and Alexia collapsed to her knees, with Dak quickly coming to her aid. Maya clenched her fists. “I don’t believe it!” she hissed, making Ivar turn his gaze back on her. “I saw it. They’re dead, girl,” he confirmed, and Maya gritted her teeth as her eyes scanned Halfthenn’s for deceit. Rumak, she thought hopelessly as she stared into Ivar’s eye. She shook her head. “Take us there,” she ordered coldly, but the man shook his head. “I’m not leaving here until I see Arvid,” Ivar stated firmly, but Maya wasn’t having it. “TAKE US!” she screamed, but before Ivar could argue, another voice chimed in. “It’s alright, Ivar. I want to see it too,” the man said, and Maya turned her welling eyes back to meet the Nightbane’s hard gaze. His hands and face were stained red, but he held a strong composure, and in his hand was a bloody bag. Maya lifted her eyes to Arvid’s. “Where is Longbeard?” she asked coldly, and the Nightbane tossed her the bag. She peered into it, the contents revealing a crushed bleeding heart. “What he would not give to you in life will be given to you in blood. You will see,” he swore prophetically, and Ivan raised an eyebrow. “You don’t propose to…” he started with a concerned tone, but Arvid stopped him. “I do. Unload your hunt and then guide us to the battlefield,” Arvid ordered, and Ivan gave him a firm nod. The group disbanded, and Maya’s gaze fell onto Alexia. “What if he is dead?” she asked, her tone frightened of the very possibility. Maya didn’t look to give her hope or fill her with optimism, that wasn’t her nature, she had been aware of the risks of Raymun’s venture ever since Torgon’s death. “Then this stupid mission would have been for nothing,” Maya stated sternly, and Alexia kept her gaze to the floor. “No,” Terry argued as he joined them, with Cassi following quickly to join Maya’s side. “Whether Raymun lives or not is irrelevant. Our mission is to unite the clans, to attack the south, and that,” Terry stated as he pointed at the concealed heart in Maya’s hands, “will tell us what we need to know,” he claimed with a sense of confidence that Maya had yet to see in the man. He helped Alexia to her feet and gave her a hopeful look before departing with Arvid out of the hall. Maya dropped her head, her mind brooding with thought. She had suspected she’d be fighting for Raymun in this battle, and that she would be alongside Rumak again. Her heart twisted in her chest as she thought of his name. Would her life now be consumed with guilt and remorse? She felt a hand grasp her own, and her startled gaze fell into the warm but timid eyes of Cassi Snow. I can’t lose myself now, Maya thought to herself as she stared into those indigo eyes. - The sun had descended into the crevasses by the time they had departed Halvor’s village, and they had walked for hours under torchlight until Maya’s tired eyes finally saw light again on the horizon. They were well out of the Frostfangs now, and as dawn cast her light onto the land, Maya came to see the Haunted Forest that she had surprisingly missed. Rumak had taught her to love what many feared. They slowly traversed around edge of the final peak, with Maya at the head of the group alongside Cassi and Ivar Halfthenn, while Arvid brought up the rear with Alexia and Terry. Dakvidih had remained at the village, as was his duty, to lead their people. Maya followed closely behind Halfthenn, who had a restless look on his eye, and it showed in the way he walked. Something had put him off edge since Arvid mentioned the heart, or perhaps he was just always like this. Maya wasn’t going to leave it a mystery. “What did Nightbane mean? How do I get the information I need out of this?” Maya queried ineptly as she shook the bloody bag that dangled from her belt. Ivar glimpsed at her shortly before a shiver ran down his spine, twitching his shoulders. “He intends to take you to the Weir Witch,” Ivar claimed laconically, to which Maya raised an eyebrow. “And who the fuck might that be?” she asked, and Ivar took a moment to answer. “A seer of the old ways,” he remarked with ambiguity, “She resides in a grove lost within the forest, feeding on its magic to empower her own. They say she can turn wood into stone, see into the future and the past, and controls an army of undead,” Ivar retorted, making Maya roll her eyes. “And which of that am I meant to believe?” Maya jeered with a mocking smile, but Ivar’s eye was a cold as ice as he glared at her. “All of it, or none of it. Never have I seen this witch before, nor do I have any intention to. Only Arvid sought to find her, he ventured with twenty men, and only he returned. He never said a word about it,” Ivar stated, to which Maya raised an eyebrow to question it further, but as they made it around the side of the mountain and began to descend into the valley that opened up into the mouth of the Northern Haunted Forest, Maya was stopped in her tracks. “Old gods and the new,” Cassi mumbled as she buried herself into Maya’s arm, and even Maya was left without words as she gazed upon the open valley. Hundreds, no, thousands of bodies littered the open snow, staining it with red for miles. Among the corpses were folk sorting through the bodies, collecting weapons and trinkets as well as burning the dead, but the crows were still left with much to feast. Alexia and Terry reacted much the same as the caught up with them, and Arvid pressed on down the hill without hindrance, encouraging them to follow. Maya scanned the faces of the corpses as they passed them. Hornfoots with open throats, Thenns with eyes gauged out from the birds, and men of the Ice Rivers – whose teeth were filed to a point. All these faces were unfamiliar, but once Maya began seeing fellow Nightrunners, the reality hit. Terry sprinted ahead of them, sliding to his knees and lifting the corpse of a woman a few decades older than him, tears streaming down his cheeks. Ivar placed a hand on Terry’s shoulder, a heavy frown plaguing his face. “Who was she?” he asked with a sympathetic tone, and Terry clutched tightly onto the woman. “Mother,” he choked as he held the woman close, and Cassi’s jaw dropped as she glanced around them. “There’s so much… death,” she mumbled with widened eyes, and Arvid nodded. “Such is war,” he stated sternly before turning his hard gaze on Maya. “All for a man who called himself king,” he remarked, and Maya glared at him with anger before her gaze dropped to the ground, and she found herself staring at the pale skin of a rotting corpse. She wanted to argue with him, to show how much of a great man Raymun Redbeard truly was, yet as she looked around she could only see what Raymun had left in his legacy. The King of the Free Folk, she thought, staring at all the dead folk that were scattered among the valley. Raymun’s ambitions had gotten Torgon killed, and now they likely killed Rumak as well. “Dogga!” Alexia suddenly called as she saw a man walking amongst the bodies in the distance, and Maya’s eyes lifted to the name. She knew it well, for it had echoed in her mind since the Nightrunners had joined with the Hornfoots. He was the one who had killed Torgon. Maya unsheathed her dagger, following after Alexia, who ran to greet the man. “Alexia!” he called with a thankful grin spreading across his face, and the two embraced. Dogga was black of hair and blue of eyes, similarly to Alexia, although he held a cocky look in his eye that made Maya’s blood boil. Before Alexia even knew what was happening, Maya shoved her aside and pounced on Dogga with a blood cry, desperately trying to drive her knife into his chest as he struggled to retaliate. “You killed Torgon!” Maya screamed, and Dogga fought tooth and nail against her pure will to bury her dagger in his heart. “Get this whore off me!” he screamed, and as Maya noticed Alexia scrambling to her feet, she felt something powerful tackle her to the ground from her other side. Her blade was knocked from her hands, and as she reached to grab her other, she met with the golden eyes of the great beast. “Maya,” a young girl greeted with a warm tone, “You remember Visenya, don’t you?” she asked as she pet her direwolf, who responded with a rumbling growl that drooled onto Maya’s cheek. “Elissa?” Maya exclaimed with shock as the girl knelt beside her, tickling her beast behind the ear with a small smile. “To you,” she remarked ominously, her direwolf then lifting its eyes to Dogga, who had grabbed an axe to finish the job. “She’s a friend, Dogga,” Elissa claimed, and Alexia pulled the weapon from the man’s hands. Maya shook her head, squirming underneath Visenya’s hold. “Let me go! I’m going to kill him!” she screamed, to which Dogga rolled his eyes. “She seems like it,” he remarked coldly, and Elissa frowned. “What would killing him serve?” she asked, and Maya glared at the man with thirsty eyes. “Vengeance,” she seethed, to which the young girl smiled. “We are on the search for vengeance as well,” Elissa claimed with a bright tone as she rose to her feet. “Dogga and I intend to kill Fleshbearer. We are tracking him, and his army is not far from here,” Elissa claimed, to which Maya furrowed her eyebrows with frustration. “Who the fuck is Fleshbearer?” she asked impatiently as she struggled underneath Visenya’s hold, who growled at her in warning. “Fleshbearer is supposedly the new King of the Free Folk,” Elissa stated coldly as she crossed her arms. “He destroyed Raymun and Krygorn’s army, and enslaved his enemies as soldiers for his army,” she claimed, and Maya raised an eyebrow. “There are survivors?” she asked, and Elissa nodded. “Yes, I have seen them through Visenya’s eyes. Nightrunners, Hornfoots, Thenns, there are many,” she stated, and Maya felt hope building in her chest. Rumak may live, she thought. “We have to free them,” Alexia thought aloud, and Elissa nodded. “We will, but I need Visenya, and right now I need assurance that Maya won’t kill my friend here if I call her to me,” Elissa claimed, and Alexia looked to Maya with pleading eyes. Maya turned her glare onto Dogga, who eyed her coldly. The man had killed Torgon, she would not forget it, nor would she forgive it, but at the moment this was more important. She gave the warg a nod, who then summoned her wolf to her side, granting Maya her freedom. “Will you come with us, Maya?” Elissa suddenly asked, and admittedly Maya was surprised by this. If Rumak lived, or anyone else she knew and cared for, she knew she needed to go with them. Yet she knew herself, if she had a moment with Dogga she would kill him without hesitance, and she found herself looking back to Cassi, who watched her with fearful eyes. “I have to go speak with the others first,” Maya stated, and Elissa nodded. “We leave soon,” she urged, and Alexia nodded. “We’ll be quick,” she assured them as she joined Maya. Terry still held onto his mother with wet eyes, and Cassi sat by his side comforting him while Arvid was instructing Ivar and his men of something. “Terry,” Alexia greeted with a sympathetic tone as she knelt by his side. “We found Dogga, we’re going after Fleshbearer to free our people, to get vengeance on those we lost,” Alexia stated, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Will you join us? For her?” Alexia asked, and Terry’s eyes dropped to his mother for a moment before anger boiled in his cheeks. “Fighting death with more death will not bring her back, nor save anyone else. I’m staying here,” he muttered, and Alexia frowned, turning her gaze to Maya for assistance, but even Maya was unsure if she wanted to sway him. Cassi crawled into Maya’s protective arms, there was no way this girl would leave her side, could she really bring her into harm’s way? Going after Fleshbearer could get them all killed. Alexia rolled her eyes and approached Arvid. “We’re going after them, are you coming with us or not?” Alexia grumbled, and Ivar raised an eyebrow. “Going after who?” he asked, but Arvid answered for him before Alexia had to elaborate. “Fleshbearer,” he muttered as he crossed his arms, and Alexia nodded firmly, making the man frown. “I will not sacrifice my people for a man who so carelessly sends his own to the slaughter, I’m sorry,” Arvid stated in refusal, and Alexia shook her head with spite. “You’re a fucking coward, Nightbane, nothing more,” she sneered, which the man wore without argument. Maya glanced at the man with lost eyes, which he found as he glanced at her. “If I know Krygorn, then I know he fought to protect his people from a man that would endanger them. I will not fight to avenge a dead man who would have done the world a favour dying sooner, but I will honour my promise to you in delivering you to the truth if you still wish for it,” Arvid claimed, making Alexia roll her eyes. “Come on Maya, let’s go,” she insisted, but Maya hesitated with this, glancing at Arvid for a moment. She saw a strength in the man that was similar to what she saw in Raymun, she felt almost safe under his watch, and yet uncertain. He challenged everything she ever believed, and almost honed her like a wet stone on bitter steel. She turned her gaze to Cassi, who had buried her face into Maya’s chest, and the girl suddenly had an understanding of what it felt like to be a mother. Was this what Rumak felt? She wondered as she caressed the girl’s hair. Could she truly risk putting her life in danger for the lives of others, and yet, could she truly live with herself if she didn’t try to save them? What if Rumak is among them? [Stay with Arvid] [Go with Alexia]
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Post by WildlingKing on Jan 10, 2020 22:30:10 GMT
[Stay with Arvid] This is the option of going to see the Weir Witch, right? Because that's something I'd definitely love to see Besides, we already have PoVs dedicated on the Fleshbearer plotline, so Maya remaining separated from it for now seems like the better option story-wise.
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Jan 10, 2020 23:59:44 GMT
[Stay with Arvid] This is the option of going to see the Weir Witch, right? Because that's something I'd definitely love to see Besides, we already have PoVs dedicated on the Fleshbearer plotline, so Maya remaining separated from it for now seems like the better option story-wise. Yes, this choice will lead her to the Weir Witch to learn what Ivan Longbeard knew, but also separate her from Raymun a little as well.
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Jan 16, 2020 0:38:04 GMT
Alright, time for the next part, which goes to Rumak. In closing his last vote, it's decided that Rumak will agree with Ariyana's plan. This will certainly have big implications in regards to the Fleshbearer conspiracy plot line, we shall see where that goes in this next part.
Rumak
Prickles of guilt crawled over his skin as he looked into Ariyana’s eyes with a heavy heart, her deep blue eyes were almost begging for his approval, and he couldn’t believe he was going to give it. He felt a coward, perhaps he was a coward. The Rumak he knew he had once been had not been the man to so easily bend his will for some craven flesh-fucking monster, and yet here he sat considering the idea of sacrificing a girl three decades his junior. He gave her a sullen nod, to which Arienne rolled her eyes bitterly.
“You’re a spineless bastard, Rumak,” she spat before standing and storming out of the tent. Rumak’s gaze followed her out, but Ariyana placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t mind her,” the girl advised, to which Rumak shook his head. “It’s not her that I’m concerned about. I’m not too on board with your plan,” Rumak grumbled in response, making the girl frown.
“I have been the focus of attention since we got caught in this shit. We’ve been careful, but people are noticing our little gatherings. Asger said himself that he was confronted by the Barbarian about him and Deepstone,” Ariyana claimed, to which Saeeda frowned. “You have much trust for a man you barely know. How can we be sure this one won’t just turn us in to Fleshbearer when things get too hot?” the Thenn queried, and Rumak turned his gaze onto Ariyana with anticipation. The girl let out a sigh.
“Not all of the Ice River men are evil at heart like he is, many of them want Fleshbearer dead, they’re just too afraid to act on it. We must follow the plan,” Ariyana stated, bringing Rumak to the next question. “You’re the one calling the shots here, how are we meant to know when the best time is to strike if we go through with this?” Rumak questioned sternly, and Ariyana flashed a mocking smile at him.
“We’re Free Folk, aren’t we? There’s no man or woman we must follow unless we choose to. We must remind our people of that. Only then once they remember who they are will the time be right,” Ariyana claimed in an almost prophetic manner, making Rumak sigh. “And how might we do that?” he asked, and received a smirk from the Caswell girl.
“Fleshbearer has made you the Commander of the Nightrunners and Hornfoots in his army. It’s your responsibility to get them under control, to make them trust you,” she stated, and Rumak paused a moment before giving her a firm nod. “To make this somewhat easier however, I’ve put together a list of those among us who have devoted themselves to Fleshbearer. You will present them to Fleshbearer as traitors,” Ariyana stated, passing Rumak a roll of paper. He unrolled it and glanced at half-a-dozen names before listing his gaze to her with a plain expression.
“What good is a list to a man who can’t read?” he exclaimed with a light chuckle that followed, bringing a small smile to Ariyana’s lips. “I’ll fetch Lynessa to accompany you,” Ariyana stated, to which Rumak raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t take her father for a reading man either,” he claimed, making Ariyana smirk. “He didn’t teach her. I did,” she stated, picking herself up and turning her gaze to Saeeda.
“The Thenns allegiance will be integral if you are to succeed in this,” Ariyanna stated firmly, and the Thenn stood to her feet. Her light brown hair was trimmed short, and her light green eyes stared sternly into Ariyana’s brooding blues. “We will honour the pledge. Your death will not be in vain, sister,” the woman swore, and the two linked arms before the Thenn departed from the tent. Rumak rose to his feet with a heavy chest, frowning at the girl he towered over.
“I don’t like this,” he grumbled, and much to his surprise, Ariyana lifted her hand to caress his cheek. It was out of her character to do such a thing. “We can’t afford to think of ourselves now. I know the price, and I’m willing to pay it. You need to take over now,” Ariyana bid, making Rumak sigh as he looked to the exit of the tent.
“How am I to convince them to follow me when half of them see me as a traitor and a craven?” Rumak asked rhetorically, hopelessness lingering in his voice. Ariyana frowned as she dropped her hand. “I will talk to Arienne, but for now,” she placed her hands around Rumak’s, pressing the bit of paper in his hands to his chest, “if those among us see you punishing the true traitors among us, you may have a chance,” she stated, and Rumak stared at her a moment before accepting her plan with a nod.
“I’ll go find Lynessa,” she remarked, then pointing her finger to the top of the list. “The first name is Old Gordel,” Ariyana stated, to which Rumak’s brow raised. “An elder?” he realised, and Ariyana’s brow lowered bitterly. “A craven and a fool’s fool. He was quick to submit to Fleshbearer to save his own skin, and his act has misguided many of our own to follow his cowardly example,” Ariyana stated, and Rumak slid the bit of paper behind his furs. “Then he’s the first,” Rumak reaffirmed, giving the girl a nod before turning to egress.
“Rumak,” she called finally, and the old warrior turned his firm gaze back on her a final time. She stood adamantly and without a shred of weakness to her composure. “Trust in the plan. Trust in our people,” she bid, and Rumak glanced at her a moment before giving her a promising nod, and egressing the tent.
-
He splashed his face with some water as he gleaned his surroundings. Elder Gordel’s tent was located on the edge of the Thenn and Nightrunner border, which was a tense area of Fleshbearer’s camp. Not only was it an area victim to spontaneous brawls and attacks from either sides, but it was also overseen by Fleshbearer’s ‘peacekeepers’ – folk of the Ice River clans that were more likely to cause the fighting than prevent it. Rumak remained on his edge.
“Commander!” a grouchy thick accent rasped from behind him, and Rumak turned to meet the cold black eyes of the Thenn commander, who walked at a pace that would have charged right through him. Beside him walked another Thenn that Rumak recognised, he had been present with Asger in the first meeting. Deepstone, he remembered as the man quickly accompanied the commander, a concerned look on his equally black eyes.
“Barryn,” Rumak greeted dryly, and the Thenn commander blurted something in the Old Tongue which Alex loosely translated. “You’re in our territory. He’d wants to know what you’re doing here,” Deepstone conveyed diplomatically, and Rumak turned his cold gaze to Barryn. “Hunting traitors,” Rumak stated with a malicious intent as he glared at the turncoat. The corner of the Thenn commander’s lip lifted into a smirk. “We will join you,” he claimed with emphasis on each word, his struggle with the common tongue clear. Rumak let out a heavy sigh but did not object, and instead started walking.
“Fleshbearer is a strong king,” Barryn stated firmly, and Rumak resisted the urge to argue with him. Days of being whipped into submission had left him tired. “Stronger than Redbeard,” he added through an attempt to taunt him, but Rumak did not give him the satisfaction. “And Krygorn?” he instead queried, to which Barryn’s face soured.
“Krygorn was weak. I would be a better Magnar,” he claimed, and Rumak observed Alex’s expression to this statement before smiling. “Ah, but Fleshbearer is now your Magnar, and King of all the Free Folk, isn’t he?” Rumak quipped with a smirk, and Barryn glared at him for a while before nodding. “Aye.” Rumak turned his gaze to Alex.
“And you, Deepstone? How do you take to our new king?” Rumak queried, trying to source whether he was still with them or not. Alex glanced at Barryn before answering. “I am grateful to be alive. I owe that to Fleshbearer’s mercy,” Alex stated, but Rumak could hear the strain in his voice as he said it. It was enough for Barryn’s approval however. “We will fuck the crows, and be the greatest army to ever raid the south,” Barryn claimed with pride, but Rumak knew that wouldn’t happen. Fleshbearer will be dead long before that ever happens, Rumak swore, and this army would be destroyed before it would ever see battle.
“Who is this traitor we are looking for?” Alex inquired, making Rumak frown. “An elder amongst the Nightrunners, Gordel is his name. You could say his blood is rooted to the old ways,” Rumak claimed, his fibs conveyed less convincingly than he had hoped, resulting in Deepstone studying his eyes before nodding. “Damn fools, they should’ve learnt their lesson after witnessing what happened with the last round of traitors,” Alex stated, which spread a bloody grin across Barryn’s face. “Let’s go remind them who their king is.”
When they reached Gordel’s camp, the elder was the first amongst his group to rise, giving a respectful but cowering nod to Rumak. “Commanders, what do we owe the pleasure?” he asked politely, grabbing some spare mugs from the table they were gathered around. Rumak approached to receive the mug, only to backhand the alderman with it. Gordel collapsed to his knees as he clutched his face, and the Nightrunners around him reached for their weapons. Barryn unslung his axe.
“Gordel, you are a traitor conspiring against our king, and you’re coming with me to go pay him a visit,” Rumak claimed as he lifted the old man to his feet, his expression mortified. “I would never!” he stuttered with fear, and Rumak clashed his head against the elder’s, rendering him unconscious. “Anyone else?” Rumak grouched, and the Nightrunners around him tensely glanced at each other before lowering their weapons. Good. Rumak hoisted Gordel over his shoulder, and Barryn past him with a cold eye as he studied the men and women that had been consulting with the elder. He turned his gaze back to Rumak with a bloody smirk.
“No chances,” he uttered, and without hesitation he swung his axe into one of the unarmed Nightrunners that had submitted to them. His skull exploded with impact, and Barryn’s axe buried itself deep into the boy’s torso, evoking a scream of horror from the woman beside him. That was it. One Nightrunner grabbed his sword and charged at Barryn, only to get caught at the throat with the Thenn commander’s offhand and have his neck snapped. Rumak dropped Gordel and reached for his sword, but received a warning glare from Deepstone who shook his head.
Rumak watched as Barryn unleashed his destruction on Rumak’s people. He couldn’t just stand by and watch. Rumak clutched his fists as his fiery glare turned on Barryn. If he acted, he could risk blowing everything by going head to head with Barryn. If he didn’t, who could say they’d want to follow a coward who did not stand for his own people?
[Intervene] [Do nothing]
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Stigz
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Post by Stigz on Jan 31, 2020 8:52:19 GMT
Hmm, it's been two weeks and still no votes. Sad. Naturally I would just leave it and post the next part, but as the next part is somewhat reliant on this choice I guess I'll just make it myself. Given Rumak's character, I think him intervening will do. God, how korny. Next part should be up soon now that I can finally make the adjustments.
Asger
The king’s squire glanced coldly at the defiled corpse of Brilga the Thenn, her flesh as pale as the Milkwater. Fleshbearer had his way with her, feasting on what he deemed good meat, and fucking the rest. What was left of her lay in the corner of the king’s pavilion, to become tainted meat appealing for only maggots and crows.
Asger lifted his gaze upon the man himself, who dug into his meal carelessly as Asger stood idly by him. Fat and oil oozed down his bearded chin as he bit into the barely cooked venison provided to him by his hunters, mixing with the blood dried in his hair. He chewed open and loudly, taunting his guest who sat chained opposite him. Asger recognised the man to be the one he had suggested to Armun to be the commander of the Thenns for his manipulability, and all Asger recognised in him was that soul trait.
Raugan Varalaf was on his all-fours, stripped to the skin and whipped into submission. He had even started to behave as a hound, all for Fleshbearer’s amusement. When the king was finished with a leg on his platter, he would toss Varalaf a bone – a meal drenched in the dressing of shame and remorse. Fleshbearer licked his fingers of the meat and grasped his horn to wash it down with what little drink he had left.
“Squire!” he barked, and Asger stood firm as he approached. “More wine you daft cunt,” he ordered, and Asger’s gaze lifted to the wooden cask that sat in reaching distance from Fleshbearer. He sneered as he took the horn from Fleshbearer’s hand and approached the barrel, filling it to the brim before offering it back to the king. The man slapped the horn out of his hand, spilling the wine down the front of Asger’s coat.
“You truly are a fool’s fool. Try not to spill it this time,” he growled, his eye flickering down to the horn and back again to Asger with amusement. Asger stared at the creature with resentment before dropping to his knee and retrieving the drinking horn. He glared at the sharpened point it came to, thinking of how much he would like to lodge it into Fleshbearer’s throat. Instead, he repeated the action he had just done earlier, and this time the king took it with a warm smile.
“Much better,” he stated as he downed the wine with an aggressive thirst, most of it running down his beard and staining his furs. He threw the horn at Raugan’s head and reclined back in his chair, shutting his eye. “In a few days we’ll be in the Frozen Shores, you know what that means, Squire?” Fleshbearer asked with a taunting voice, to which Asger shrugged. “We get to kill Frozen Shore Men,” Asger muttered dryly in response, and Fleshbearer smirked.
“Eat ‘em and fuck ‘em too,” he added with a disturbingly pleased tone that Asger tried to pay no mind to. “Will we be waiting for the Barbarian or the Savage before we attack?” Asger queried, and Fleshbearer opened his eye; glancing at him half with amusement and the other half dumbstruck. “You truly are a fool if you think the Barbarian is returning from the Vale, boy,” he grumbled, and Asger lowered his gaze.
“As for the Savage, he’ll have his fun with Redbeard while we fuck these Frozen shits – if he finds him,” Fleshbearer claimed laconically, to which Asger raised an eyebrow. “You think Rumak would lie about Raymun’s location?” Asger asked hesitantly, and he watched as a bitter hatred ignited in the king’s eye. “That old bastard openly defies me. I’d wager he’s plotting against me,” Fleshbearer grumbled with resentment as he glared maliciously at Raugan. Asger glanced at the excuse of a man before turning his gaze back on the king.
“Rumak is a loyal man, but he’s not tactful. I say you beat him like any old dog you try to teach new tricks. He’ll come to learn where his loyalties should lie,” Asger suggested, and an approving smirk came to Fleshbearer’s lips. “This task I’ve given him will be a test as to where his loyalties truly lie. What was that Nightrunner whore’s name again?” Fleshbearer queried, and Asger frowned.
“Ariyana Caswell,” he reminded, and Fleshbearer nodded. “Aye, that bitch – she will serve as a good replacement for that Thenn bitch,” Fleshbearer stated eerily, his words then turning stern. “If what you’ve sourced is true, then I’ll know Rumak is against me if she isn’t brought before me tomorrow,” he stated, and Asger nodded. He hadn’t quite agreed with her plan when she had informed him of it, but as he had witnessed Barryn’s brutality with hunting traitors, Asger had realised the importance of divergence if their plan was to work. Even if it means sacrifice, Asger thought coldly for the greater good.
Silence choked the air around them before Fleshbearer pushed himself upright, walking to the other end of his table and grabbing Raugan’s chain. He dragged the old man to the corner of Brilga’s corpse, kicking the old craven into her. “Have your fill, dog,” he chuckled as he pressed his boot at the back of Raugan’s head, forcing him to chow down into the girl’s opened chest. Fleshbearer turned his gaze back to Asger with a hard eye.
“Assemble my war council,” he growled in order, and Asger nodded without hesitation.
-
The majority of the Ice River chieftains had been informed of Fleshbearer’s summons by the time Asger had decided to take a moment for rest. He still had the commanders of the imprisoned armies to find, and they could be at any stretch of his grand army. An army doomed to fall, Asger thought as he sat himself against a stack of barrels. His fingers played with the pendant of his walrus tusk necklace – a silver ring with a blue stone at its head. It was a small monument, but oh how heavy it bore around his neck at times like this. He glanced at the pendant with mellow eyes, thoughts of his sweet daughter – his sunshine – flooded his mind as her ring glinted in the light of a dying sun. Ragna, he whispered softly, her name bringing him such excruciating pain. She had been taken from him, she and her beautiful mother: Leena, no other woman had touched his heart like she had. All by the hands of his sickly thin brother, Asger was sure of it. Fullerton had been lingering by when Asger had found their bodies, and he disappeared without a trace shortly thereafter. I swear I will kill him, Asger promised with a heavy heart as he pressed the ring against his lips before tucking it into his tunic.
“Hey, fuck head!” a voice called, and Asger lifted his gaze inquisitively to assess the commotion. He quickly realised the accusation was towards him, and the Nightrunner girl, Arienne, was approaching with heavy steps. Asger had barely gotten to his feet by the time that girl had grabbed him by the scruff of his collar. “You fucking shits have been hoarding all the fucking food!” she yelled before uttering something under her breath. “Ariyana wants to see you,” barely escaped from her mouth before she continued her act. “You’re Fleshbearer’s lackey, fucking do something about it!” she yelled before a patrol rushed to Asger’s aid and pull her off of him.
“Fucking Nightrunner bitch, you’ll learn your place,” the head of the patrol grumbled as he kicked her in the rib and ordered her to be taken away. He turned back to give Asger a hand, and he quickly came to recognise the man. “Demarion?” Asger queried with astonishment, and the clansman flashed him a small smile. “I thought you remained at the village when Fleshbearer came,” Asger admitted with curiosity, and Demarion smirked. “Didn’t expect me to stay home and babysit while you lot have all the fun, did you?” he chuckled, and Asger shook his head presumptuously.
“We heard about the Barbarian,” Demarion stated as he ran a hand through his dark hair with a frown. “I guess that makes you chieftain now,” he added, making Asger chuckle. “You know I never cared for any of that, I’m no leader,” Asger muttered, and Demarion shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe, but Armun saw something in you that he thought was special. Everyone did, your brooding arse had just never taken the time to notice,” Demarion japed, to which Asger rolled his eyes. He put his mind to the matter at hand.
“Fleshbearer has called for his war council. I’m looking for Rumak and Barryn, have you seen them?” Asger queried, to which Demarion nodded with a grim look on his eye. “Aye, they’ve been hunting for conspirators. Barryn was cracking open skulls last I saw, and Rumak… well, old conflicts are arising,” Demarion stated enigmatically, making Asger frown anxiously. “Take me to them,” Asger muttered, and Demarion gave him a short nod.
They heard the chanting crowd before they saw it – a hundred or more had gathered to spectate the brawl that took place in the centre. Thenns, Nightrunners and Hornfoots watched with concern and anger, while fellow clansmen of the Ice Rivers cheered on the fight with raised fists. Asger received numerous foul glares as he and his escort pushed through the crowd with haste, and the scene which unfolded before them was brutally familiar.
Asger’s gaze tripped over the massacred corpses of a dozen Nightrunners; traitors, he suspected, or perhaps ones that had tried their luck against Rumak or Barryn. Whatever the situation might have been, the finale had sure attracted a crowd, and the two beast commanders were at each other’s throats. Barryn had thrown away his axe in favour for giving Rumak a true Thenn beating, and the still crippled Nightrunner commander had taken it standing until now. Barryn’s final punch threw Rumak into the mud, and the old warrior struggled to find his feet again.
Barryn walked across the crowd-made arena to fetch his axe, then returning to Rumak to squash his back underneath his foot. The Thenn commander lifted his axe for an executing swing. Asger barely realised his feet had dragged himself between them, and his arms surged up to catch Barryn’s overwhelming force from delivering death to a legitimate traitor. We’re all traitors. The Thenn commander’s black eyes glared at Asger’s with a boiling rage, and before he could react, Asger spoke. “Fleshbearer wants to see you. Both of you,” he grumbled, and Barryn held his glare for a long while before dropping his axe and nudging Asger aside. The crowd quickly parted for him, and the Thenns watched as their commander walked alone to his king.
Asger turned his gaze back to Rumak, and thankfully some of the Nightrunners and Hornfoots had come to his aid, and even a Thenn. Alex Deepstone, Asger recognised as he glanced at the man momentarily before turning his back on him. The Ice River clansmen began to dissipate, and Demarion approached with a half-cocked smile on his lips, extending his hand out to Asger in commendation.
“The balls on you!” he applauded, and Asger grasped the man’s arm with a sigh. “Fleshbearer would be pissed if Barryn offed Rumak,” Asger mumbled in explanation, to which Demarion raised an eyebrow. “Would he?” he challenged, to which Asger glanced into his old friend’s eyes for a moment before giving him a small careless shrug. Demarion freed his arm and turned his gaze back to his squadron. “I’d best get back on patrol. Be seeing you, Asger,” he mumbled in farewell, and Asger gave him a parting nod.
Asger turned his gaze onto the arena of corpses that littered the ground around him. Barryn had certainly left his signature on them, and Asger suspected Rumak hadn’t been forthcoming to the Thenn commander’s methods. Whatever it may have been, he was just relieved it had ended as smoothly as it had. What a shit show, Asger thought to himself as he rubbed his tired eyes. He suddenly felt a hand rest on his shoulder, which returned him back to his alert wired self as he turned to meet Alex Deepstone.
“Hey Asger, if you find a minute tonight, find me at my tent,” Alex requested with a hushed tone that piqued Asger’s curiosity, and then Deepstone was gone. Asger turned his gaze to the source of all the trouble, an old restrained Nightrunner who was escorted away by a girl that Asger recognised was in Ariyana’s league. I suppose I should find Ariyana, he thought as he glanced around. The massacre had attracted many eyes, and as the scene dissolved, folk from both sides of the border came to the bloodied bodies of Barryn’s wrath. Asger disappeared into the crowd.
-
The lead conspirator brooded for a long while as Asger stood before her, processing and analysing what he had just relayed to her. She lifted her gaze up to him with a look of hope. “Without the Savage or the Barbarian, Fleshbearer is left weak,” Ariyana stated, to which Asger nodded in agreeance. “Our opportunity to strike is growing,” Asger claimed with the lust for finality of this living nightmare. Ariyana lifted her open palm to calm his urgency.
“Be patient, a strike too soon will only backfire on us all. The Free Folk need to remember who they are, and only then will we be ready to retaliate,” Ariyana claimed, to which Asger frowned. “We’re running out of time, Caswell. We’re only a few days out from the Frozen Shores, and then we are at war again,” Asger muttered, and Ariyana looked deep into Asger’s eyes. “And that will be the best time to strike,” she stated, making Asger raise an eyebrow.
“In battle? That would create chaos…” Asger echoed in thought, and Ariyana nodded. “Chaos is our ally. If we do this right, Fleshbearer’s army will be destroyed from within before the first sword will meet the army of the Frozen Shores,” Ariyana claimed, and Asger nodded. “I want to take that fucker’s head from his shoulders,” Asger seethed, to which Ariyana flashed him a small smile.
“Everyone does,” she remarked, standing to pour herself a drink. She passed Asger a goblet. “I don’t want you to be there when the hammer falls, Asger,” she finally said, and Asger’s brow furrowed with confusion. “There’s a high chance of this all going to shit, and Fleshbearer adding the Frozen Shores to his army. It would be wise for you to return to your people and lead them to safety,” Ariyana claimed, and Asger felt a rage boiling up from within him.
“Safety? Where the fuck is that?” Asger spat as he pressed his cup to the table. “Fleshbearer has fucked our people’s name into the dirt. Where we might have found refuge with the Thenns, Fleshbearer fucked that over by taking the Magnar’s head. The Ice River clans have no friends of aid now,” Asger grumbled, and Ariyana placed a hand on his shoulder with a sympathetic glance that he avoided like a plague. “Without hope, all is lost. Don’t lose your way now, Asger, this has never been about us. Do what’s right by your people,” she pleaded, and Asger glared at her a moment before shrugging her hand away. It’s what the Barbarian would have wanted as well, he thought as he shook his head.
“I’ll do my part for my clan, but I’m no coward, nor are they. I will see this through,” Asger swore, to which Ariyana frowned but gave him a settled nod. “Very well,” she uttered with a sorrowful tone, taking her seat again. “I’m sure Fleshbearer would expect you at his war council. You should get going,” she advised, and Asger nodded as he approached the exit of her tent, stopping for a moment with his gaze planted to the soil.
“I suppose this will be the last time we meet,” Asger stated with a sour realisation, to which Ariyana sighed. “Best not to think of it that way, eh? For my sake?” Ariyana pleaded with a shaky voice, and as he looked back into the girl’s eyes, he saw tears streaming down her precious face. Asger clenched his fists as she subtly shook his head. He didn’t want to let this happen, but it was too far gone. “I’ll build a pyre for you,” he swore to her in final bidding, and she past him a gracious nod before their eyes looked at each other for a final time.
The fresh air that greeted him was cold and stale, choking on the stench of blood and sweat that was being dragged to war. Fleshbearer had annihilated all his opposition with one dirty hand, and Asger doubted any army could now stand up to his. Even the night sky veiled itself to their presence, hiding itself behind a thickness of black cloud. Asger felt a tremble course over his skin, and his feet urged him to move without second thought.
Asger’s eyes scanned over the encampment; the night was young and yet the camp was as silently haunting as the forests many of their army hailed from. Those that he did see kept quietly to themselves, even those of the Ice Rivers who had been revelling with victory not more than a few weeks ago – now they feared to show their faces. Fleshbearer truly was the most wicked of them all, and nobody had the balls to question him.
He heard their king’s sickening voice before he met his pavilion, and upon entering he stood witness to the eyes of every chieftain and commander in their army staring at him. He read their eyes with caution, many reflected fear and obedience, others disdain and some even with relief – likely to have the attention turned off them for a moment. Asger felt the prickling glare on him before he met it; Fleshbearer’s malicious grin returned to his bloody lips as he raised his arms in welcome.
“Squire!” he greeted with a boisterous tone before his lip suddenly fell sour. “Take a seat,” he ordered coldly, and continued his speech without a second interruption. “This will be an easy fucking, brothers. We will feast on their fishy cunts for months to come!” he cried, and a forceful cheer erupted from the chieftains around the table, while the commanders stood as silent as old oak.
“King, what about the Raymun imposer and his army?” Varakul the Cold asked with a concerned tone which boiled Fleshbearer’s cheeks. “What did I say about Raymun Redbeard?” he reminded with a cold warning, and Asger watched Varakul cold glare retreat from the king. “I don’t care for that son of a bitch, my concerns are for the army that’s being pulled together,” Varakul muttered in explanation, and Fleshbearer’s fiery glare mellowed to a mocking grin.
“The Frozen Shore Men have been quarrelling with each other for centuries, that won’t change anytime soon, my friend,” Fleshbearer exclaimed with confident assurance, yet the faces around the table did not seem assured in the slightest – it did not phase the king. “We will begin with Clan Greymyst, I have a bone to pick there with some bitch,” he muttered, and then he turned his gaze onto Asger.
“Squire, you’ve proved yourself more useful than your predecessor. So my reward onto you is that you will lead the Barbarian’s men in my vanguard,” he stated, and Asger’s eyes widened a moment before he bowed his head. “It would be an honour, my King,” he lied, but it was convincing enough to leave the creature satisfied. Fleshbearer then turned his gaze on Rumak – the commander’s face was bruised and pitiful, with his eye swollen up from his earlier encounter.
“Ah, Commander Rumak,” Fleshbearer emphasised with a cold tone, “how comes the hunt?” he asked, and Rumak’s glare shot across the table to Barryn before turning back to Fleshbearer. “We are working on it,” Rumak remarked laconically, to which Fleshbearer smirked, glancing at Asger a moment before returning to Rumak. “Tell me, Rumak. I’ve heard rumours of a ploy against me, headed by a bitch of yours,” Fleshbearer stated, and Rumak shot a cold glare in Asger’s direction before turning his gaze back on the king.
“Ariyana Caswell,” he muttered in acknowledgement, “and she’s no bitch of mine. She’ll face justice at dawn, same as the others,” Rumak stated, spreading a grin across Fleshbearer’s lips. “Do you think she could have done it?” he then asked, and some of the chieftains looked at each other with concern, while Rumak glared at Fleshbearer. “Do you think she could have killed me?” he elaborated, and Rumak held his cold gaze for a long moment before dropping it. “No.”
The answer was short and sharp, and one which did more than just satisfy Fleshbearer’s self-grandiose. Whether Rumak believed his answer or not was irrelevant, his word sapped any hope of freedom from the chieftains that had even a whim of thought for the ploy’s potential of success. He may have just single-handedly derailed their entire ploy altogether, and there was not a single thing they could do about it. The boasts of their king returned to drum at their ears until the night was late, and all during that time Asger felt the piercing gaze of Rumak clawing at his skin.
-
When the war council disbanded, Asger eagerly made for his tent, his tired eyes already ahead of him. He walked through the empty passages between the tents and those who slept in the open, but there was a creeping sensation that pricked at the back of his neck. He did his best to pay it no mind, when he arrived at his tent he was greeted by a cold surprise. A Thenn glanced over the pages of a journal that Asger had taken into his possession from a raid south once – he had used it for little more than sketches and random thoughts, but it was something he kept close.
“What do you want?” Asger grumbled as he reached out to take his book, but the Thenn woman tucked it to her chest as she still stared at the pages. “Your drawings are beautiful, this girl is your daughter?” she assumed as she nodded to the poor sketch of Ragna. Asger snatched the book from her hands, throwing it into his tent and turning to look at her. “What do you want?” he repeated coldly, making the woman sigh.
“I am Saeeda,” she introduced as she clasped her hands together, and Asger glanced over her form. She was short for a Thenn, being under six foot, and had short light brown hair with green eyes. Her small nose and slim features gave her some appeal, but Asger wagered she was at least ten years his junior, and he had no interest for love affairs. “I won’t repeat myself again,” he warned her, and Saeeda blushed awkwardly.
“I’m a friend of Alex Deepstone, he asked me to collect you,” she explained, to which Asger rolled his eyes. “I have no interest in seeing him,” Asger muttered as he knelt to enter his tent, making Saeeda frown. “Please, for Ariyana’s sake just come,” she pleaded with a tone that was almost desperate. Asger glared into her eyes for a moment, and there was something concerning staring back at him. Reluctantly he gave her a nod, and the two walked to the outskirts of the Thenn camp. When they arrived at Alex’s tent, Asger entered first.
His clouded vision identified four bodies, and when his eyes had adjusted to the dim lighting, he was met with drawn bow pointed at him. “Easy!” Alex called with a nervous voice as he placed a hand on the archer’s shoulder. “Asger is a friend, he saved my life,” Alex explained, and the archer reluctantly dropped his arrow, while Asger glared at the Thenn. “What the fuck is this, Deepstone?” he growled, and Saeeda followed behind him with a similar attitude. Alex flashed him an embarrassed look.
“Asger,” he greeted warmly as he approached with open hands, but Asger kept his glare on Alex’s guests. They were three, two of them were Hornfoots and another a young girl with shorter hair than Saeeda’s – they were not of Fleshbearer’s army. “Who are they?” Asger grumbled, and Alex glanced back at his guests with a short smile.
“The one who pointed an arrow at you is Dogga, he fought with us alongside Krygorn. With him are Alexia and Elissa Mongrow, friends of Raymun Redbeard,” Alex introduced, and Asger eyed them cautiously before glaring back at Alex. “What the fuck are they doing here, Deepstone?” he growled, and Alex lifted his hands in an attempt to defuse Asger’s temper.
“They’re here to kill Fleshbearer,” Alex stated laconically, and Asger snarled. “We have a plan for that already,” he grumbled, to which Alex nodded coldly. “Aye, a shit plan that has gone long enough. We could end this all by dawn if we act now, Asger,” Alex claimed, making Saeeda shake her head.
“No, we must stick to Ariyana’s plan,” she argued, to which Alex rolled his eyes. “Can’t you see what Ariyana is doing? There is no perfect timing to kill this fuck, the only thing she’s holding out on is that we remained banded together after Fleshbearer is gone so that Raymun Redbeard has an army to return to,” Alex stated, and the one he called Dogga spat at the mention of his name. Asger lowered his gaze in thought. What if he was right? Saeeda wasn’t having it.
“That’s not Ariyana’s way, she’s willing to sacrifice herself for us!” she seethed, to which Alex shook his head with frustration. “We’re sick and tired of being treated like slaves, Saeeda, aren’t you? Ariyana is willing to kill herself for Raymun, not us! I say she can do that in her own time, but let us go free as we are meant to be!” Alex claimed, and then turned his gaze to Asger.
“We’re doing this, and I’d rather you stand with us than against us on this, Asger. What do you say?” Alex asked, and Asger lifted his gaze to those who stood before him. This attempt would surely not work, it was rash and bold, and yet all the more threatening than Ariyana’s plan so far. What if it could be done? Asger couldn’t help but wonder, and Alex made a fair point. Yet they already had a plan, was now truly the time to deviate from it?
Choice 1: [Go with Alex’s plan] [Stick to Ariyana’s plan]
Choice 2: [Inform Rumak of Alex’s plan] [Stay quiet about the plan]
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Post by WildlingKing on Jan 31, 2020 13:29:41 GMT
Ah, fuck! Sorry about not commenting on the last part, I must've checked it when you first posted, decided to read it later and then just forgot it XD Anyway, fwiw I'd probably voted for intervening.
And ah, fuck it, knives out! Fleshbearer is overconfident about his status, I could see some straightforward action catching him off guard. [Go with Alex’s plan] & [Inform Rumak of Alex’s plan]
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Stigz
Full Member
Vibe check.
Posts: 150
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Post by Stigz on Feb 6, 2020 2:05:08 GMT
Alright, so I had some thought on it and decided that it would fit better into my plans for this chapter if I did the next Rumak and Asger parts now before jumping back to the Thenns. So with that in mind, I'll close the voting for Asger's last part - he will go with Alex's plan and inform Rumak of it. We'll now see how that plays out.
Asger
The Ice River man shifted his gaze to Saeeda, whose scornful glare was locked on her old friend, and Asger’s gaze followed it back to Alex. There was a hope in the man’s eye that seemed reassuring, but it wasn’t Deepstone or his plan which brought Asger to the fold. The sooner we are rid of Fleshbearer, the better, Asger rationalised as he slowly gave Alex an approving nod, which infuriated the Thenn woman.
“What the fuck, Asger? What about Ariyana?” she exclaimed, and Asger frowned as he turned to her. “Fleshbearer’s tyranny has gone long enough, Saeeda. If this works, Ariyana doesn’t have to die,” Asger claimed, but Saeeda shook her head naively. “You’ll all be dead by morning, and the rest of us will be because of you,” she hissed, turning up her nose and exiting the tent. Dogga gritted his teeth as he watched her leave.
“We should follow her, make sure she doesn’t give us in,” he stated, to which Alex shook his head. “I’ve known Saeeda a long time. She’s stubborn, but she’ll come around,” he assured him, but Dogga only rolled his eyes. Asger crossed his arms as he turned his hard gaze onto Alex. “So what’s the plan, Deepstone?” he queried, and the man smirked as he beckoned for Asger to take a seat.
“It’s quite ingenious, if I may say so,” he boasted, to which Asger rolled his eyes. “Just spill it,” he grumbled, to which Alex nodded with a sigh. “We will strike at dawn, at the execution. Dogga is a good marksman, he will take the shot on Fleshbearer, while Alexia will shoot Ariyana’s bindings. Those outside of Ariyana’s inner circle will think this is part of her plan, and will rally to support her. There’ll be a fight, but Elissa has some friends in the forest that she believes will come to our aid,” Alex stated, making Asger raise an eyebrow as he turned his gaze to Elissa.
“Who are these friends?” he questioned, to which Elissa lowered her gaze. “Creatures of the forest that have been long forgotten. My mother controls them, I will speak with her,” she stated, and arose from her chair. Alexia quickly gave the girl a tight embrace. “Stay safe,” she bid her, to which Elissa nodded with a small smile before abruptly egressing the tent. Asger turned his gaze back onto Alex.
“So where do I fit into all of this?” he asked, to which Alex smiled. “You will be closest to Fleshbearer when this all happens, if anything should go wrong, you will have to kill him,” Alex claimed, to which Asger nodded. “Then you get to join the show of killing those who don’t come to the fold,” Alex added, and Asger eyed him cautiously. “There are many of my people who would like nothing more than to see Fleshbearer killed, I need your assurance that they won’t be harmed,” Asger stated, and Dogga snarled at him in response, but Alex gave him a nod.
“Of course, Asger,” he answered warmly with a smile. “Just make sure they fight for the right side, and there’ll be no confusion,” he claimed confidently, to which Asger nodded. “Well, I’d best get some rest,” Asger suggested, to which Alex nodded, standing with him. “I’m grateful you chose to side with us on this one Asger. Fleshbearer’s reign will all be over soon,” Alex stated with hope, and Asger gave him a tired nod before exiting the tent.
His heart was racing anxiously, and he felt his palms growing sweaty as his aching feet dragged him across camp. Before, this had all just been a plan with an unforeseeable outcome. Now it was so close that Asger could almost taste it. He had longed for this moment, but fear now choked at him. Could it really be done? A solid plan was only as good as its execution, and if this was executed poorly, it would have all been for nothing. A cold shiver coursed down his spine at the thought of it, and he quickly shook his head. Now is not the time for doubts, he thought to himself with some hope of it bringing him some comfort. It didn’t.
Instead, he made for Rumak’s tent. Alex may have been confident about Saeeda’s loyalties as a friend, but Asger wasn’t so sure, and he’d rather take his chances telling Rumak directly rather than him hearing from Saeeda. Asger knew Rumak didn’t agree with Ariyana’s plan, but it was all they had. Until now. He only hoped that the old warrior would see reason in their rash cause now.
The Nightrunner camp was as silent as a ghost this night, Asger imagined that was the result of Rumak and Barryn’s uprooting of traitors. Or legitimate Fleshbearer loyalists, Asger suspected, if he knew anything of Ariyana. There was some relief to find Rumak’s tent glooming with a lit candle within, but also angst at what this confrontation would bring. Asger did not dwell on what it might be, and without hesitation he entered the old man’s tent.
Asger’s eyes adjusted to the lighting, and his gaze met with the hard green eyes of the hairy Nightrunner commander. His eye had fully swollen over now, and his cuts had been attended to by the healers, though it was fair to say he looked like a bruised and decaying spud. In his hand he held an empty horn, and two barrels of ale sat on their side empty. There was a brooding look on his face before his eyes met with Asger’s, and the Ice River man wasn’t sure if he was met with disdain or confusion.
“You look like shit,” Asger greeted, and Rumak glanced into his empty horn with a look of acknowledgement in his eyes. “I feel like shit,” he muttered dryly as he dropped his drinking horn, and Asger took a seat opposite him. “Can’t sleep?” he asked, to which Rumak scoffed. “Boy, I don’t think I’ll be sleeping again anytime soon after what I’m going to allow happen tomorrow,” Rumak grumbled, and Asger stared into his eyes before expressing an understandable nod.
“This fucking plan. This fucking shithole we’re in. Fleshbearer has stripped us to the bone, ripping away everything that made us Free Folk. I stood up for my people today against that whoreson Barryn, and all they did was just fucking watch,” Rumak grunted with bitterness reeking in his breath. “How the fuck I’m meant to rally them against that vile bastard once Ariyana is gone has me fucking tossed,” Rumak grumbled, making Asger sigh.
“No one wants to see Ariyana or anyone else die needlessly for Fleshbearer’s sick amusement, and we don’t have to let this continue,” Asger stated, making Rumak lift an inquisitive glare on him. “What the fuck are you saying?” he asked coldly, and Asger wasn’t sure whether to proceed. Show no fear, have no doubt, he reminded himself, and he turned his gaze onto the old man with strength.
“A Hornfoot named Dogga came with some friends to kill Fleshbearer. He and Alex Deepstone have formulated a plan to execute at dawn,” Asger stated, and Rumak’s cold eyes widened at mention of Dogga’s name, but he remained silent as he glared at his feet. “I’ve agreed to help them,” Asger added, making Rumak smirk satanically. “And so you’ve doomed us all,” Rumak grunted coldly, making Asger shake his head in argument.
“We can finish this tomorrow, Rumak; Ariyana’s life doesn’t need to be wasted. Everyone can return home to their families, and we’d be done of all this terror. We don’t need to lose anyone else,” Asger exclaimed, to which Rumak rolled his eyes carelessly. “What do you know of loss, boy? I lost my family long ago, Ice River man. I have Dogga and Raymun to thank for that,” Rumak grumbled, and Asger rose to his feet with an old fire being rekindled in his cold heart.
“I’ll tell you what I know about loss. Twenty years ago I met a woman blessed by the old gods, and stole her as my wife when I knew our love was true. My whoreson brother raped her when I brought her home, and I damn near killed him for it before our parents separated us. He was sent away, and returned after five years to murder and rape my wife and my sweet little daughter, burn down my home and killed my fucking dog. I may not have lived through your losses, but I’ve lived through enough of mine to have learned where to draw the line. Drown your miseries in shit ale if you like, but I’m not going to sit around any longer while Fleshbearer prances around like a god,” Asger exclaimed, and Rumak glared deep into his eyes. There was some sort of understanding between the two men, followed by a short but commanding request.
“Get out,” Rumak grunted, and Asger held his glare on the man for a moment longer before respecting the old warrior’s wish. The cold air met his lungs with a northern chill that coursed through his veins. It cooled his blood and tempered his rage, and finally his mind was collected. Tomorrow the Free Folk would liberate themselves, and Asger would take Fleshbearer’s head.
Rumak
Pain was an old friend, bitter and harsh on introduction, but accepted with time. Rumak had been no stranger to pain, he had experienced it all his life, and he would experience it until his death. Physical pain no longer troubled a man of his years in fighting, rather it was memories which revealed themselves as the most traumatic. The pain of a festering wound or a broken bone could be endured, but there was no taming the remorse of a broken man. That kind of pain left a man with sleepless nights, and there Rumak laid in his bed in the late hours of the night with his eyes immersed in the darkness.
Circumstances had left him as half the man he used to be, and even that consideration was gracious in perspective. He was defeated, in both body and spirit, and had become a chained dog as a result of it. And I let it happen. The very thought of it simmered within him, boiling his blood and tearing at his skin. Fleshbearer might have been the enslaver, but Rumak alone was the only man who could take away his liberty, and so with his cowardice he had descended. Love and fear bore him a heavy burden, it crippled him more than his damaged body ever could, and he would now play another man’s pup just to indulge it. All for the hopeless hope of a plan for freedom. Perhaps Rumak was the greater fool.
He hoped dawn would never come, but again, it was a fool’s hope. Soon her strategy would be placed in his hands, but not before he condemned a poor girl to her death for the sake of upholding secrecy. To further complicate the matter, he now would have to deal with Asger’s conniving to their plan. Perhaps I should just let them. The thought had plagued his mind for an hour now, and it was as appealing as it was stupid. They would die, and all would be lost. Rumak would be rooted out as a traitor for not having found them, and Fleshbearer would personally see to it that he would never appreciate the hope of seeing Maya again. Stop it.
He lifted himself upright, catching his head in his hands as he brooded. It was this fear which had turned him into the beaten mutt that he had become, and his inaction would be his undoing. His feet dragged him out of his tent and into the open night sky. His eyes fell upward into a dream of a thousand memories – each star told its own story, and he wouldn’t let his tell one of cowardice. He put one determined foot in front of the other, leading himself to the crafted prison block that held the traitors he would soon present to Fleshbearer.
His tired eyes were met by a familiar Nightrunner standing guard. She approached with a frown on her face. “Can’t sleep?” she assumed with an understanding tone, to which Rumak nodded with a stern expression. “Where is she, Lynessa?” The Nightrunner girl turned her head over her shoulder to one of the cells on the edge of the block. “We separated them all to avoid them conspiring with each other,” Lynessa explained, and Rumak gave her an approving nod. “Good,” he muttered as he pressed past her, but she was quick to catch him with a hand on his shoulder.
“Rumak…” she started, and the old warrior looked at her with hard eyes. “I just want you to know, none of us are going to hold this against you. You’re doing what you have to do,” she mumbled with a kind voice, but no amount of sweetened words could save his heart from plummeting into the abyss with his forthcoming actions. He didn’t look for sympathy, but he gave her an appreciating look before turning his back on her and walking to Ariyana’s cage.
The girl knelt calmly with her hands on her thighs, and seemingly didn’t notice Rumak approach until he gave her a nudge. She returned to her senses with a startled look on her face before she lowered her gaze. “Sorry… I was miles away,” she muttered with a disorientated voice as she gleaned in her surroundings, and her eyes suddenly came to recognise him. “You shouldn’t be here, Rumak. There’s already enough suspicion as is,” she reminded him, to which Rumak gave her a careless shrug.
“Those who are suspicious will be dead by morning, and I fear tomorrow we will all follow you to the grave,” Rumak grumbled, making Ariyana’s brow furrow. “What has happened?” she finally ask, and Rumak’s fists clenched tightly around the wooden bars that concealed her. “Deepstone and Asger have betrayed us. They plan to strike at Fleshbearer during the execution with some others outside of the army,” Rumak claimed, and Ariyana’s eyes lowered in thought as if she had planned for this.
“How did you learn of this?” she then asked, to which Rumak frowned. “Asger told me, he wanted me to join them,” Rumak grunted in response, to which Ariyana sighed. “I asked for him to be patient, but now he has left us with no choice,” she muttered, and Rumak gazed at her intently as he awaited her next move. “I want you to find Alex and his friends and deal with them,” she finally said, and Rumak nodded in understanding.
“What about Asger?” he asked, and Ariyana sighed. “Asger is too close to Fleshbearer to be dealt with now. Leave it to me, I will handle him,” she requested, and Rumak looked at her with confusion. “No questions. Get moving,” she urged him, and she followed her lead as he rose to his feet and got a move on, only to stop for a final time. He turned his gaze on her, admiring her courage and strength despite everything she was about to lose, and he let out a heavy sigh. “They say there is no honour among the Free Folk, but for what it’s worth, it’s been my honour to fight this fight with you,” Rumak bid her, and her eyes welled with a short smile. “Go,” she reiterated, and he did.
-
There was a stench to the Thenn camp that was unsoundly for those who prided themselves the most civilised of the Free Folk. The morning was early, with a fine line of light touching the dark eastern horizon. The camp was quiet; those few whose eyes he encountered gave him only cautious and weary stares before averting their gazes. Their encampment reeked of fear and blood, and Rumak knew that taste too well, but it was only now that he had come to receive that serving with a different outlook. The Thenns were directionless and hopeless without their Magnar, and Rumak’s people were nothing to him without the memory of Raymun. Who may be dead for all we know, Rumak thought grimly, but shook the idea from his head. His objective was clear, and he wouldn’t let his thought obstruct with what needed to be done.
When Deepstone’s tent came into view, Rumak felt his hand reach for his sword, which he freed from his belt and gripped tight as he approached. There was a glow from within, but Rumak heard nothing as he listened. His patience wore thin and he ripped open the flaps to the tent, revealing a scene that shocked him. Alex Deepstone was tied to a chair and gagged, and another girl behind him was the same, while Saeeda and Arienne stood over them with bloody fists. Arienne hit the girl a final time before her eyes met with Rumak, and Saeeda’s brow lifted.
“Didn’t expect to find you here, coward,” Arienne greeted coldly as she wiped her bloody hands on her coat, and Rumak flashed her a bitter look. “I could say the same,” he admitted, and Saeeda turned her eyes on him suspiciously. “What are you doing here?” she asked with an inquisitive tone, and Rumak gave her a cold smirk. “Asger came to tell me of this little gathering,” he stated, then turning his gaze onto Alex. “He wanted me to join you, and he should have kept his mouth shut, just as you should have,” Rumak grumbled as he pushed Alex’s head, then turning his gaze to Saeeda.
“I take it you were also part of this plan?” Rumak queried, to which Saeeda shook her head. “Present, but not part of,” she hissed in her thick northern voice, “When Asger agreed to Alex’s plans, I left and sought out Arienne. We returned to put an end to their schemes but… we don’t know where the rest are,” Saeeda claimed, and Rumak turned his glare onto Alex, pulling the gag down from his mouth. The man cursed something in the Old Tongue with mention of Saeeda’s name, which was enough to plant Rumak’s fist to his cheek.
“Asger mentioned you were conspiring with a Hornfoot, Dogga, where is he?” Rumak growled, and Alex glared coldly at him before the Thenn lowered his gaze. The girl tied behind him answered. “We already told your friends here, we don’t know where he went!” the girl muttered bitterly, only infuriating Arienne, who slapped the girl across the face. “Lying Hornfoot bitch,” she seethed, and Rumak came around to join her. His eyes widened as he came to recognise her face.
“You, you’re… Alexia?” he realised, and the Hornfoot lifted her gaze up to Rumak with eyes that resembled relief and anger. Rumak knelt before her. “You travelled with Maya to the Frostfangs, where is she? Is she alright?” Rumak queried with a voice that resembled to fear of what her answer might be. Alexia flashed him a cold look. “She lives. She chose to remain with Terry Snowflake and some crow she’s fallen in love with,” the girl remarked with a bitter tone, and Rumak let out a sigh of relief, followed with gutted disappointment. My girl loves a crow? Nothing could have enraged him more.
He grasped her arms in threat of rattling her. “Where are they? Where are they going?” he growled, as if he had some sort of choice to go out and find her, and Arienne grabbed him by the shoulder. “Get a fucking grip, old man!” she growled, and Rumak fought every urge in his body to backhand that spiteful bitch. If she weren’t being rational, his resilience may not have prevailed. As if to break the tension, another entered the tent with inquisitive eyes. Lynessa, Rumak recognised as she entered.
“It’s time, Rumak,” she stated firmly, and the dawning reality sprung onto him as he realised what she meant. He clenched his fists as he rose to his feet, turning his gaze to Arienne. “Find Dogga,” he muttered, and the woman gave him a nod without argument. He turned his eyes to Saeeda, but she spoke before he could. “I’ll remain here and see if I can get any more out of them. They won’t be present at the execution,” she assured him, and Alex cursed her once again before Saeeda replaced the gag in his mouth. Rumak gave her a nod before turning to Lynessa with a heavy heart. It’s time.
Asger
Fire and smoke shrouded the village that he called home for so long. It had been his birthplace, the home of his new family, and he suspected someday it would house his deathbed. No longer. Within his hands he carried a primitive spear, crafted from the petrified branch of a weirwood tree, and oh how it spoke to him. It had brought him back here with haste, and now he hoped he was not too late.
He charged through the smoke and haze, past the burning homes and the warfare that surrounded him. Armun the Barbarian had launched their assault on them with the help of the Frozen Shore Men, and his victory would reward him a village and people to govern over. Asger steered clear of it all, running straight for his home. He arrived too late.
His home was alight. His wife and child lay outside the home in the snow, their throats slit, and above them stood his vile brother. Fullerton. A smug look on his face erupts into satanical laughter, and Asger’s rage is transferred into his spear, which catches alight. His hands burn and his body soon with it, but he does not scream. All he can hear is the echo of laughter, stabbing him multiple times before engulfing him in misery.
He awoke in a cold sweat, his heart racing in his chest and his hand clutched to a knife he had unsheathed for his defence. It was the same dream, the nightmare that had plagued his mind for the last four years. He slowly came to his senses and lowered his guard, putting his blade away and resting his head. As reality came to familiarise itself with his awakening, Asger found it easier to shake the dream off, but he knew it was leave him thinking for hours.
It was a misconstrued perception of the past; two timelines merged into one. Armun’s taking of the village had been a separate occasion of that to Fullerton’s assault on it. Armun had besieged their village some ten years before Fullerton, and in honesty, Armun’s taking of the village had been the best thing to have happened to them. Armun was a strong leader, and a good chieftain. It had been Asger who had called for the cease in fighting when Armun had arrived, and the two had sparked a close alliance ever since.
Asger shook the thought from his mind. It was ill luck to dwell in memory in a time where precision and alertness was required. He egressed his tent and was met by dawn on the eastern horizon. The execution will be soon, Asger thought to himself, though he knew it would be so much more than that. His tired feet dragged him to Fleshbearer’s tent, which gave off an ominous atmosphere, and Asger reluctantly entered.
His eyes adjusted to the dim setting, and his gaze scanned the interior of the pavilion. Raugan remained chained to the centre post, his nude body covered dried blood and grime, pale and shivering; his body tucked up into a ball. Ahead of him were three rotting female corpses upon fur-spread bed, stripped and raped at Fleshbearer’s convenience. The creature itself gazed at its appearance in a hanging mirror with vile appeasement. He was draped in nothing but the flesh of his enemies, and a sickening smile came to his bloodstained lips as his eye met with Asger in the mirror’s reflection.
“Squire,” he greeted with a condescending tone as he yanked the chain around Raugan’s neck. “Dress your king,” he ordered, and Asger glared at him for a moment before obeying his command. He addressed his wardrobe and sorted through his pelts and furs, picking the thinnest material for Dogga’s convenience. Fleshbearer removed his skin cloak, tossing it over Varalaf head. Asger approached cautiously and began to dress him.
“Are you excited for what the day brings, squire?” he asked with a twisted smile, and Asger nodded swiftly. There was no need to lie this time. Fleshbearer grinned in approval as his gaze returned to himself in the mirror. “I’ve reduced Rumak to a submissive hound. In a matter of days we’ll fuck the Frozen Shore Men back into the sea, and then I’ll finish off my business with Kygorn’s slut daughter,” Fleshbearer planned, and Asger slid the fur coat over the king’s head.
“What of the south?” Asger queried, and Fleshbearer glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “You think I’ve forgotten?” Fleshbearer queried with a semi-amused tone, but before Asger could think of an answer, the king grabbed him by the scruff of his pelts. “Do you know how I lost this eye?” he growled, drool running down his chin. Asger shook his head, indulging the king. “The king of the fucking crows took it out. When we’re done here, I’ll take the fucking Wall and attack the south with it. Not the Starks, the Umbers or the fucking crows will be able to touch us!” Fleshbearer snarled before releasing Asger. “They’ll sing songs about how I united the clans, broke the Wall and skinned the pups of Winterfell,” he chimed, and as if on cue a crowd began to sound outside his tent.
“It begins,” he muttered with a growing grin, and turned to unchain Raugan from the post. “Come dog, you can watch your last hope turn into your first meal of the day,” he quipped before yanking hard at the chain and dragging the old man out. Asger followed closely behind, his eyes meeting with the mass crowd that had already come to form. There were loyalists who cheered Fleshbearer’s name as they saw him, but Asger saw many whose faces resembled fear, even amongst the Ice River clans. They will fear no longer, Asger thought eagerly as his heart thumped in his chest.
His gaze glanced across the crowd, and slowly he grew more concerned with each passing face. He could not see Alex or Dogga, or Alexia for that matter. There’s still time, he thought with an attempt to alleviate his concerns. Best not to think about it, he reconciled. A horn sounded in the distance, and the crowd parted way to allow entry for a dozen or so – half-a-dozen traitors, and the rest escorts. At their head walked Rumak with a stern expression on his bearded face. Fleshbearer lifted his arms with a wide grin spread across his face.
“Rumak!” he greeted as the Nightrunner commander presented the six traitors and Ariyana Caswell before him. His eye gazed at the traitors presented before a smirk came to his lips. “You bring me seven, just like the Seven shits that those southerners will be praying to when we go and fuck them!” he shouted, and half the crowd cheered in his support. Then Fleshbearer’s eye met with Ariyana.
“You must be the bitch I’ve heard so much about. It’s a great pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Caswell,” Fleshbearer greeted in mockery, and Ariyana spat in his face. “Kill me and be done with it, you fucking bastard,” she seethed, only playing to the king’s amusement. Fleshbearer choked her by the throat, then throwing a fist into her eye that sent her to the ground. “Don’t you worry about that, princess, you’ll get it soon; but first I’m going to make you watch your fellow conspirators die,” he chastised, and walked to the first traitor. Old Gordel.
“I guess that starts with you, old man,” Fleshbearer stated with a shrug, pulling a dagger from his belt. Gordel dropped to his knees with cowardice running down his cheek in the shape of tears. “Please my king! I am loyal to you, this is a set up!” Gordel pleaded, and Fleshbearer grasped his hair at the scalp, ripping his head back and turning his gaze to Rumak. “I love hearing them grovel for their lives,” he said maliciously before opening up the old man’s throat, his bloodspray painting Fleshbearer’s face a fresh red. He turned his gaze onto the next traitor.
“Now, who do we –” Fleshbearer started before being abruptly interrupted. His knife fell from his hand as it rushed up to his neck, pressing at the gushing blood freshly made from the arrow that had lodged itself into his throat. Asger watched as the sick amusement on his face turned to fearful confusion, and with a couple of perplexed stumbles, Fleshbearer collapsed to the ground. The crowd fell silent for a moment. Asger’s gaze turned to Ariyana with anticipation, her eyes widened with shock, but there was no second arrow. Then the chaos erupted.
Asger’s gaze traced the crowd to find Dogga, who had been tackled to the ground by Arienne and a few other Hornfoots. By then however it was too late, Nightrunners, Thenns, Hornfoots and Ice Rivers. Weapons were out and the fight for survival was on. Rumak unsheathed his sword but was caught in the action with a chieftain. Asger pulled out his knife, his gaze returning to Fleshbearer. His feet cautiously approached the struck king, his attention devoid of all the confliction that surrounded him. He still lived, gurgling on his own blood, and Asger suspected he would soon bleed out or choke on his own blood if no one else got to him first. I won’t allow anyone else the satisfaction.
Asger took his knife into both hands, Fleshbearer’s eye meeting with his just moments before Asger would finish it. Fleshbearer lifted his hand, uttering something. “Help… me…” the creature pleaded, and Asger felt the anger boiling inside him as he clenched the knife in his hands and lifted it above his head. His execution fell short as he felt a grimacing pain jolt through his chest. He looked down to see Fleshbearer’s knife planted into his heart, wielded by an unbound Ariyana. She guided his fall, their eyes connecting for a brief moment before she fled from his gaze.
His eyes fell into the sky, a growing day met already with bloodshed and pain. The heavy clouds parted to reveal a deep blue that stared into Asger’s soul. They were calling to him. His wife, his daughter, the old gods, welcoming him at their side finally. Fleshbearer was dead, and his purpose was fulfilled. He would finally be reunited. I’m coming home, my Sunshine. With that, day turned to night, light turned to darkness, and all chaos turned peaceful.
No decision.
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